


I Dreamt I Held You In My Arms

by Yendroid



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Heartbreak, Infidelity, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 93,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yendroid/pseuds/Yendroid
Summary: Zayn and perrie got engaged man ! He just texted me about it, he's in the car now but he said i should let you know :)
  Harry stares at the words as he stands there, with his phone in both hands. He stares, frozen in time and place, until the letters become a blur and all Harry can feel is his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces. This is what it feels like. This is what it feels like when everything suddenly falls apart, and all you're left with is the broken remains of your life, laying in a pile on the floor by your feet. No warning, no nothing.-One band. One dream. Two boys. Ten years.





	1. you'll never know dear how much i love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weavesunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weavesunlight/gifts).



> In a way I felt it was my duty to choose this prompt in particular, it might not have been the best decision, but it happened nonetheless. I tweaked it a little, but hopefully the essence of the prompt is still alive in the story.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely and courageous beta, for having the cojones to even read this through in the first place. You are a trooper and a life-saver.
> 
> Thank you to Nicki for managing to not kill me for being the worst at keeping deadlines.
> 
> Thank you to L, for telling me to write when I'd rather do anything else.
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own. Enjoy x

 

 

Telling the truth is a hard thing to do. Harry never used to think so, but the older he got the harder it became.

Growing up in the lime light, lying became a part of your every day routine. It was necessary and since it was almost made into just another point in the job description, you got used to it. Sooner rather than later, telling a little white lie didn't even faze him, and Harry got better and better at letting the lie become the default answer. 

It was never anything major, just little things, things that were better answered a certain way than with the truth; 'What do you look for in a girl? Would you ever date a fan? How much input do you _really_ have on the music?' 

There's one thing to lie about something that is better put in a certain way. Lying for other people, lying to spare someone's feelings. The tricky part is not realising that you're doing it. Not realising that you have something to lie about in the first place. Not recognising the truth that is in your heart, and how long you have been carrying it around inside of you.

When confronted, Harry would never claim to have been lying about that one specific thing, the thing that meant the most of all. When confronted, he would have wanted to kick himself for not realising the truth sooner. When confronted, he would have wished that it wasn't already too late.

 

 

\---

Harry is in a car on the way to the airport when Jeff calls. He'd had to rush to pack his things, managing to oversleep for the first time in ages, his body seeming to have gone into stand-by mode by its own accord, as soon as filming ended the day before. He'd been a wreck when he got home, just about managing to get his clothes off before stumbling into bed and falling asleep in an instant, his still not fully packed suitcase laying open on the floor by the window.

Going out with a few other members of the crew seemed like a great idea at the time, but as he's sitting in the car now, realising that he forgot his iPhone charger by his bedside table, he curses quietly under his breath, before fishing up his phone from his back pocket with a grumble.

“Hello?” he sighs out, slightly grumpier than intended.

“I'm not gonna say 'I told you so', because I have a feeling that you already know,” Jeff laughs on the other end, making Harry roll his eyes and slump back into his seat, running a hand through his hair with another sigh. “Fun night?”

Harry nods through a yawn, groaning out the last of his breath and closing his eyes tiredly. “Yeah, was good. Worth it. And no, I didn't forget my toothbrush.” he says in a voice that has repeated the same thing more than twice, not mentioning the charger that's still in his bedroom.

“I wasn't gonna say anything, I'm not your mother, Hershel.” Jeff says patiently and Harry scoffs out a laugh that Jeff pointedly ignores.

“ _Anyway,”_ Jeff continues and Harry can hear the smile in his voice, making one appear on his own lips as he looks out of the tinted window at the sunny city flying by outside. “Are you in the car?”

“Yep, I'll be at LAX in like twenty minutes, hopefully,” Harry says as the car stops by a red light. The traffic is not too bad, but it's a Saturday, so anything can happen. “What's up?”

“Just calling to check in on you before you leave,” Jeff says, sounding very casual and aloof, and Harry furrows his brows at his tone.

“Thought you said you weren't my mother, Jerome,” he teases instead of questioning Jeff further.

“I do wonder sometimes,” Jeff answers, and Harry laughs.

“Could you call me when you're settled actually? I do have something that I wanna talk to you about, but it can wait until you get home,” Jeff sounds a lot more normal now, but Harry still frowns.

“Yeah, sure,” He says, deciding not to press on about it, his mind way too tired to even try and be bothered about anything more intricate than counting the palm trees outside the window.

They say their goodbye's, and Harry lays his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes for the rest of the drive.

 

 

The flight back to England has always been just a little bit brutal. Even after having made the same trip possibly thousands of times, a journey that long will take its toll on you, and when he does finally arrive at Anne and Robin's house in Cheshire, Harry is but a shell of a man, and by the look on his mother's face, he must look about as awful as he feels.

“There he is, my little zombie child,” She laughs, and coos as he falls into her arms as soon as the door flings open, his luggage dropped haphazardly on the steps just outside. It doesn't matter how old he gets, his mother's embrace will always be a safe space he will get nowhere else and he breathes in her homely scent, burying his face in her neck and using up his last bits of energy to stand as upright as he can so as not to make her tip over under his weight.

She rocks him side to side gently, and Harry smiles with his eyes closed, the wind in the trees and the subdued noise of cars in the distance lulling him into an even sleepier state.

“Should we get you inside, darling? Or are you gonna sleep standing up like this? You're not a horse are you?” Anne says gently, her hand stroking his back and a smile evident in her voice, her tone in that way that it always gets when they haven't seen each other in a while, sounding like it did when he was little and needed his mummy to make everything better, like she always managed to. When all it took to put a peaceful smile on Harry's face was hearing his mother sing 'You Are My Sunshine' in a soft and soothing voice, as she kneeled by the edge of his bed. Sometimes he wishes that could still be enough.

With a loud sigh he disentangles himself from her embrace, and she smiles brightly up at him, cupping his cheek in her palm, the other hand stroking over his hair, making her scrunch up her nose.

“Maybe a hair wash is due?” She says still with a smile on her face and that warmth in her eyes that makes Harry feel like he really is in the safest place on earth. He scrunches up his own face and makes a pitiful whine in the back of his throat, sounding like the baby birds that inhabit the oak tree in the back of Anne's garden, and ignoring the fact that he's twenty-six and not ten years old. She laughs and pulls him down to kiss his cheeks.

“Come on then, in you go,” Anne steps aside to usher him through the door, Harry making another more gruff sound as he turns around to reach for his bags, but Anne swats his hands away and grabs them herself. “Shoes and coat off, there's sandwiches on the counter in the kitchen.”

 

After stuffing his face with ham and cheese sandwiches, still in a sleepy daze, Harry retires to the living room sofa. A proper bed seems about a mile away and the smell of the soft, fuzzy blankets and the fluffy cushions are far too enticing to resist, the sofa looking like heaven on earth as soon as he gets his eye on it as he leaves the kitchen, dragging his feet on the carpet and yawning incessantly. Anne had just about managed to keep him from falling asleep at the dinner table, shooing him away with a kiss on the cheek as she took his empty plate and swiped a dish cloth over the wooden surface.

He can barely remember the last time he was this tired, he thinks before completely succumbing into sleep, face pressed into a warm decorative pillow.

 

It isn't until the sun has slowly set after he's woken up from his three hour nap that he remembers to call Jeff back like he promised. Still lying on the sofa, the TV on low volume in the background, he lazily attempts to grab his phone from where it's connected to Anne's charger on the floor and dials the right number.

“Sleep well?” Is the first thing Jeff says as he answers after a few rings.

Harry groans tiredly and squirms into a better position on the sofa.

“Not enough,” he says, yawning for about the hundreth time these past twenty-four hours. “What's up?”

“Well, I'm just gonna cut right to the chase” Jeff says, his voice going into the professional business tone that it does sometimes when he has something particularly Important to share. “I've had an email from the Comic Relief organisers.”

Harry raises his eyebrows in interest. “Oh?”

Jeff hums in affirmation.

“Mhm, this year is their thirty-fifth anniversary, and they've requested that you help them to celebrate the big occasion.”

“Okay...?” Harry drags out the word in mild confusion. “So like... what would that entail exactly? Are they thinking like a skit or something? That'd be kinda cool, I guess,” he says, already kind of warming up to the idea. The charity has always been very dear to his heart and coming to think of it, he wouldn't mind chipping in if needed, lending a helping hand and showing his genuine support.

“Uhm,” Jeff continues hesitantly, and Harry furrows his brows as he waits for his next words. “Not a skit, actually. It's more a... request for your talents as a musician.”

Harry waits, his feelings about the whole thing already starting to change.

“They want you to write a song. Basically.”

Huh.

Four years ago, Harry would have jumped at the chance of such a special task. Now, the concept feels less than tempting. It's amazing what a couple of years can do to your creative mind, how much can change and how your self-doubt can put a spanner in the works for any future plans and projects, even those concerning the things that you would initially say were your absolute biggest strengths.

Four years ago, he would have never imagined feeling the way he does now. Four years ago, he felt invincible. But that was then, and now those four years seem about about a lifetime ago.

“Right,” Harry manages to force out after a few seconds pause, just so Jeff won't think he's fallen asleep again. “Uhm, so like...” He drifts off, not really having a clue what to say next.

“They want the single this year to be something original, instead of just doing a cover as usual, you know, to make it a bit more special for the occasion, I guess,” Jeff cuts in helpfully. “And, er...” He trails off.

“Yeah?” Harry says, wanting Jeff to keep talking so he won't have to.

“They, uhm,” Jeff sighs heavily, and Harry can almost picture him sitting at home in his office, or on his own sofa overlooking the city, rubbing his temple slightly and bracing himself for what he's about to say. “They would want it to be a collaboration.”

Harry narrows his eyes in thought, fiddling with the hem of his shirt where he lays. “So I won't have to do it alone at least? _If_ I choose to do it, I mean, because, I- Jeff, I dunno, man...” He says, voice going unintentionally weaker, just at the prospect of having to decline, and at the uncomfortable memories the whole situation is quickly bringing back.

All of the feelings he has tried so hard to repress these past years, everything he has forced himself to ignore. He's gotten so good at pretending that everything is just fine and dandy, the risk of all of that having to be for naught being more than a little bit frightening.

“I know,” Jeff says, his voice low and gentle in Harry's ear. He does know, having been there every step of the way. It's been a challenge and a journey, for both of them. “I know it's hard, you know I do. And I'm not saying that you _have_ to do it, because it's all up to you, no one is gonna force you into something that you don't feel comfortable with, least of all me.”

Silence. Harry knows what's coming.

“But it's been _years,_ H. Literal years.”

Harry closes his eyes and tries not to sigh too loudly, listening as Jeff keeps talking.

”Maybe it's time? This is a great opportunity. I'd hate to see you let it go to waste. You're so talented, Harry, you know you are,” he says, not letting Harry get the chance to disagree. “I know you can do this. You just gotta want it yourself.”

He goes silent again, letting it all sink into Harry's brain. He absolutely hates to admit it, but Jeff's words have struck a chord in him (Harry laughs inwardly at the pun before shaking his head), and something bubbles in the pit of his stomach, something he hasn't felt in a long, long time, at least not concerning anything like this. Excitement, a sense of drive and ambition, and he can almost feel the tips of his fingers starting to itch. He shakes his head wildly, trying to make those dangerous thoughts go away.

“I haven't written anything in years and you want me to write a hit single, that will be heard and judged by the entire country? That's what you're asking me? Do you even hear yourself?” Harry pulls himself up into a sitting position, frowning wildly at the coffee table as a substitute for Jeff's face.

“Yeah, what are you, scared? You think you can't do it?” Jeff's voice takes on a comical teasing voice, mirroring Harry's in raising his volume. He must know that he's getting through to him, or he wouldn't dare push him like this, and Harry tries to force down the grin that's all of a sudden creeping onto his lips against his will.

“Hey,” He says curtly rather than in his usual slow drawl, going for an offended tone but failing, Jeff more than likely hearing the smile in his voice. Jeff laughs and Harry gives in to a chuckle of his own. He rubs his palm roughly over his face, groaning in the back of his throat.

“Oh, god,” he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Why do you do this to me, Jeff? I just got home and now this, why” he whines, exaggerating his tone just a little bit.

Jeff laughs. “Did you get some sleep yet?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Harry says through a yawn, sighing heavily afterwards and sinking back into the cushions. Some Channel 4 drama series is playing on the TV and Harry can hear Anne puttering about in the kitchen, most likely fixing dinner, and his stomach rumbles quietly.

“So that's a definite 'no' then?” Jeff asks, the tone of his voice telling Harry that he knows that it isn't.

“I mean...” Harry trails off, thinking about how he wants to end his sentence. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued, that same gut feeling telling him that this isn't as bad of an idea that he would like to convince himself that it is.

“I'm gonna need an answer, like, today, so that I can let Zayn and the organisers know if you wanna be involved or not,” If Harry's whole entire body and soul hadn't just frozen for a moment he would have had something to say about the ridiculous casualness of Jeff's tone, but as it is, he can do nothing but try and act like he didn't just jump the tiniest mile at the sudden random name-drop.

“What?” Is all he can say, his thoughts flying about in a discombobulated flurry in his head, before he starts to put all the pieces together. “What does- what?” He can't even be bothered about the fact that he sounds like all of his brain cells have simultaneously taken a day off, the hand that's been playing with the hem of his t-shirt stopping all its movements, along with the rest of his body.

“That's... the other thing. That I was gonna tell you.” Jeff says, sounding a lot more hesitant now, almost a hint of nervousness to his voice, all pretense of this all being a casual conversation thrown out the window.

“What other thing?” Harry gets out, his mouth moving on its own accord, completely separated from his brain.

“They've asked Zayn to do it, as well. They want you to write the song together.”

Harry takes a second, not just to think but to wait for Jeff to say that he is only messing with him, but Jeff stays silent, and Harry tries not to let his heavy breathing get loud enough to be heard through the phone.

“What, me- me and him? Together?” His mouth is still hanging slightly open. Never in a million years could he ever have pictured his day to turn out like this. _What?_

“That's what they've said,” Jeff says, completely calm, probably in order to make Harry automatically follow his lead. It's not happening.

Harry lets out a huge breath, his eyes flying around the room before settling in his own lap. “Er,” he drags out the sound. “I'm- I don't know. I don't know what to say.” It's the truth, and the only thing he can even muster up at this point. Jeff hums into the phone and they sit in silence for a moment.

“What time is it?” Jeff asks.

Harry dazedly looks around for a clock before he has a moment of clarity and moves his phone away from his ear to check. “Like, eight thirty.”

“Ok, why don't you go have some dinner, and then you can call me back later. You can think about it for a little bit. Can you do that?” He's talking to Harry like he's about ten years younger than his actual age. All of a sudden, Harry feels like he is.

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

They say their goodbyes, Jeff telling Harry to say hi to Anne for him, and Harry drops the hand holding the phone into his lap. Trying to discern all of the different emotions floating through his brain and body seems like an impossible task, so for now, he just takes a breath, and pulls himself off the sofa, moving towards the kitchen and the smell of Anne's homemade cooking.

 

Harry tells his mum about the offer during dinner, very consciously leaving out the part about his possible co-writer. He isn't up to dealing with the look on her face when he tells her, not when his mind still feels a mess, trying to sort through the clutter of memories scattered in there, to come to some sort of decision to pass forward to Jeff.

The offer and challenge of the job had quickly started to seem more and more enticing the longer he'd had to think about it, Jeff's encouragements making him rethink, just like always. Now, it feels like a bomb has been dropped on his head, and he is desperately trying to put himself back together without making it seem at all obvious to his mother sitting in front of him, asking him questions about the project and how he is feeling about it. She gives her own words of gentle encouragement and Harry nods along, chewing on the inside of his lip as he looks down at his dinner, reminding himself of the fact that it's supposed to go in his mouth before he mushes the potatoes into a lovely paste.

He makes an honest attempt at helping Anne clear the table after dinner, trying to postpone having to call Jeff up and make a decision, but whether she notices his real reasons for it or not, Anne quickly shooes him away, grabbing their plates from out of his hands.

“Go ring him now before it gets too late,” she says, before turning around to put the plates in the sink. He doesn't answer and she looks back over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” she pushes gently.

Harry inhales slowly. “Yeah.” he nods and gives her a small smile which she quickly mimics. “Thanks for dinner, mum, was perfect,” he walks up to kiss her head before leaving the kitchen towards the back of the house.

Summer seems to have come to Cheshire while he's been away, and he takes a deep breath in as he steps out, pulling the sliding doors closed behind him. The air over here is so different from overseas, crisper even during a warm summer's evening such as this, and Harry takes a second to just bathe in it for a moment. He grabs the back of one of Anne's deck chairs and places it just at the edge of the large stone patio, moving it so it's facing the big lawn before grabbing his phone from his back pocket and sitting down.

He thumbs over the screen for a while, stalling once again, before rolling his eyes at himself and pressing Jeff's name. The call goes through and he clears his throat, moving forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Yep,” Jeff answers simply. Harry takes a second. He clears his throat again, and a thought suddenly crosses his mind that he hadn't even bothered to wonder about until now.

“Did he say yes? Like, did he accept the offer to do it?” he sounds a bit more frantic than he would like, but it's a valid question, and one he is very keen to find out the answer to.

“What? Who, Zayn?” Jeff asks. Harry doesn't answer, only nods his head and even though Jeff clearly can't see him, he keeps going as if he can. “Yeah. Zayn's already on board, they approached him first and he accepted.”

The fact that Jeff is clearly trying to get the name into the conversation as much as possible to try and make the whole thing settle properly in Harry's mind doesn't go unnoticed by him. It also doesn't help. But the message that Jeff is getting across makes the wheels in Harry's head start turning in every possible direction. He stares down into the grass between his feet. Once again, he's stunned.

“Why?” Is all he can think to say. He realises that he is making a very bad job of trying to act like this isn't a big deal like he probably should, every sense of professionalism having left him two hours ago when Jeff broke the final piece of news. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it is. Of course it fucking is. And even though this is Jeff he's talking to, Jeff who knows him better than most people, and in some ways that no one else does or ever have, he doesn't know everything. And up until now, that's how Harry has liked it to be. He's not up for changing that, at least not right now.

He clears his throat again and moves back to sit properly in the chair. ”Like,” he starts, trying to make sense of his words and the intention behind them. Professional. ”Do you, like... what were his reasoning behind his decision, do you know?” Harry gives himself an imaginary pat on the back.

”Probably the same as yours will be, I'm guessing. It's a great opportunity, a great cause, a challenge and a half. But in a good way I think,” Harry rolls his eyes slightly. But Jeff isn't wrong.

”I know the two of you haven't...” he trails off.

”Right,” Harry says quietly, feeling his legs start to tingle quite uncomfortably. He shakes his head at himself, resisting the urge to grumble out loud. He doesn't know exactly where Jeff is heading with his statement but whatever it is, it's probably true.

”You know, you haven't been very close for a while.” Jeff finally says, diplomatically as ever. To be fair, he doesn't really know better.

Harry clears his throat in an exaggerated manner, humming in response. ”Right,” he says again.

”But you know, as I said, maybe it's time,” Jeff sounds genuinelly hopeful and optimistic and Harry can't help but be impressed and a teensy bit jealous at the effortlessness of his tone. ”All I need to know is that you won't kill each other during the course of this. If you can manage that, then I don't see why this wouldn't be a good idea.”

Harry has to huff out a laugh at that. It probably couldn't be further from the truth but he still plays along. ”I can't promise anything, mate,” he says, mustering up a joking tone to his voice.

“So. Are you okay with all of this? There's no problem?” Jeff goes on, straight to the chase now.

The little smile falls from Harry's lips and he thinks for a moment.

“No. I- no,” he says, completely on instinct. ”It's no problem, I guess.”

There's no problem. None at all. Apart from the fact that he hasn't seen Zayn in months and months. Apart from the fact that the last time they properly sat down to have a real and thorough conversation that wasn't just awkward and loaded small talk was longer ago than Harry would like to acknowledge. Apart from the fact that even the mere mention of Zayn's name still makes an uncomfortably unrelenting feeling of loss settle in Harry's stomach.

There's no problem.

Harry can suddenly feel his palms start to sweat. He moves his phone to his other ear, and tries not to swallow too audibly for Jeff to hear. Jeff is still quiet, forcing Harry to continue.

”Just one song.” He says, more to himself than to Jeff. Jeff hums quietly.

”You're a professional, H. It'll be fine, I promise you, this will be great.” Harry bites his lip and raises his eyebrow. He makes a thinking sound in the back of his throat in acknowledgement.

”You think I should do it?”

”I think you should do it.” Jeff's answer is calm and steady, no hesitation.

Harry nods. Fuck it.

”Alright then. For you, mate.” he half-jokes, a final effort at trying to play it cool.

”Don't do it for me.” Jeff's voice is gentle in his ear and Harry smiles, resting an elbow on the armrest and stroking his lips with his finger tips. ”Do it because you want to do it. So, do you want to?”

Harry moves a hand through the side of his hair, letting it rest behind his head. He closes his eyes for a second.

”Yeah.” his heart answers before his brain has the chance to. ”Yeah, I'll do it.”

 

\- - -

 

Harry doesn't think he's ever been this excited before in his life.

Getting a new mountainbike for his twelfth birthday is up there on the list but the moment will have to consider itself beaten, he thinks as he's putting fresh sheets on the big king size bed in the pool house. Anne had offered to help with putting it all together but Harry has been so hyped all day that he just listened closely to her directions before ushering her and Robin out of the bungalow and starting to flail around, trying to sort everything out before the other boys arrived.

He rushes around the bed to straighten out the duvet on the other side before looking at the clock on the wall. As if on cue, his phone buzzes where he's put it on the nightstand and he just about throws himself at it, looking at the message lighting up the screen.

_i'm five minutes away! Prepare yourself! :)_

Harry grins and runs out of the pool house to grab some blankets from the cupboard in the hallway. This is going to be epic.

 

Louis, Liam and Niall have all dragged their bags into the pool house and gotten comfortable on the sofa in the livingroom when Harry's phone buzzes again, and he pulls himself up from his sprawled out position on the floor to grab it from the coffee table.

_left after the stone bridge right??_

“Is it him?” Louis crawls along the sofa to peek over Harry's shoulder. Harry hates when people do that, but for some reason he doesn't feel too annoyed.

“Yeah, he's close.” He types out a quick answer. “I'll go show him inside,” Harry groans slightly as he pushes himself up from the floor, padding out into the hall towards the front door.

He stands looking out of the window next to the door for a while, waiting for a car to appear. The butterflies in his stomach are out of control. When Zayn gets here, this is it. This is gonna be it. The five of them have been texting sporadically between each other for the past weeks, even starting a little group chat, talking exitedly about their future and trying to think of possible band names. But now that they're all gonna be here, together as a fivesome for the first time – it's getting so real, and Harry can barely contain his excitement.

He wiggles from side to side, humming to himself quietly and thumbing over his phone as he looks out the window. All of a sudden, a car becomes visible from behind the greenery surrounding the house, pulling up into the driveway, and Harry quickly steps into a pair of sandals before opening the door and stepping outside.

Standing awkwardly on the front steps as the car comes to a stop he gives a little wave as Zayn finally steps out, pulling his bag along with him. Zayn gives a shy smile back, and Harry grins.

“Hi,” he says as Zayn comes to a stop in front of him, after having said a quick goodbye to what must be his mum behind the wheel.

Even though they've been talking back and forth through the group chat, just like with the other boys, standing face to face after only having spoken in texts feels a bit weird.

“Hi,” Zayn says, holding a tight grip on the strap of the duffle bag he has slung over one shoulder.

“Hi,” Harry repeats, before shaking his head inwardly. “Welcome,” he corrects himself, and steps aside quickly. “Come in.” Zayn smiles again.

 

\- - -

 

Standing in the livingroom of his house in LA with his hands on his hips, Harry takes a second to soak everything in. He's been cleaning up the place as much as he's been able to, once again feeling immensely grateful for the sense of tidiness that he has brought upon himself these past couple of years, making his job this morning a lot easier. The dishes have been put in the dishwasher, the clutter in the hall has been collected and tucked into closets and drawers. He even made the effort of hoovering the stairs, thinking of what his mum would say if she saw him now.

The visit had had to be cut short this time, with Harry taking an early flight back to LA a week after he had arrived. Robin had been home late on the evening of his arrival, and even though he could have easily stayed for another month or two, Harry had managed to get enough of sleep and family time to last him for a little while longer. “Duty calls again,” he had said with a wry smile before hugging and kissing them goodbye, both of them wishing him good luck, and Harry promising to call as soon as he got back.

He gives one last look across the room. It's a lovely day outside as usual, the sun flowing in through the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city. Moving over to the nearest sofa on autopilot Harry starts to pat down the cushions like he's seen Anne do so many times, making them fluff up before he realises what he's doing and stands up straight again. He clears his throat, wringing his fingers together and biting his lip, looking down at his wrist watch.

Ten minutes.

Supressing the urge to go for an impromptu two hour run he leaves for the kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the fridge. Just as he's about to close the door he catches himself, and reaches in for another bottle, setting it out on the kitchen island. He leans against the counter, still with a drink in his hand, looking at the one on the island. Setting his own bottle down on the counter next to him Harry moves a hand up over his eyes, letting his head rest in his palm for a moment, letting out a large breath. This is ridiculous.

He sighs out again, and reaches for his drink, opening it and taking several large gulps.

A fleeting thought of calling Jeff up to cancel the whole thing rushes through his mind before he shakes it away. It's too late now. And he's not a coward. That's all in the past. It'll be fine. It will. He rolls his eyes at himself.

Just the fact that it was Jeff who organised the whole thing makes Harry's face heat up. Like a father fixing up his child on a playdate with another kid. A much cooler one, one that Harry would never get the chance to play with if it weren't for Jeff setting it up. That kid sitting at the other end of the canteen that Harry would always look at out of the corner of his eye, wondering what it would be like to be friends with them. Harry groans, pressing the cool water bottle against the bridge of his nose. Ridiculous.

A loud buzzing noise signals that someone is at the gate and Harry snaps his head up towards the sound.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath. Setting down the bottle he quickly moves through the house towards the entrance, his breath caught in his throat and his heart beating a million miles a minute. Stopping in front of the screen showing the gate he sees the big black car standing there waiting. He's pressed the right button before he can really register what he's doing and the gates open, the car driving into the property.

“Fuck,” he swears to himself, turning towards the mirror on the other side of the hallway, running a hand through his hair before quickly turning away again, not wanting to see the nervous look on his face. He waits a moment, breathing slowly, and then he grips the doorknob, opening the door and stepping out onto the front steps.

The car is just stopping on the stone driveway in front of him, making a little turn to be able to drive away easily. Harry fiddles with his rings, just now remembering that he hasn't got any shoes on and curls his toes onto the hard step beneath him. The door opens, and Zayn steps out, yanking it closed behind him. A rucksack is slung over one shoulder and he grips the strap as he walks up to Harry, squinting because of the bright sunlight. The car immediately drives off and Harry lets his eyes follow it as it leaves before mustering up the courage to look at the person standing in front of him.

They both just look at each other for a second too long. Zayn gives Harry a little smile and Harry is shaken out of his dreamlike state, realising that he is staring. He clears his throat before forcing a grin onto his own face, and Zayn's hesitant smile grows a bit wider and more comfortable.

“Y'alright?” he asks softly, still squinting his eyes up at Harry. Harry nods his head, a fair few times more than what is probably needed before opening his mouth to speak like a normal person.

“Yeah, hi,” he breathes out on a little laugh. “How are you? Come here,” he tries not to babble, opening his arms for Zayn to step into, who laughs as well, welcoming Harry's advances as they wrap their arms around each other. Harry tries desperately to ignore the intense bubbling feeling in his chest and moves back quickly enough, stepping aside to lead Zayn inside.

“I'm good,” Zayn smiles as they both ascend the steps.

“Yeah?” Harry says. “Well, come on in then.” and holds the door open for them both.

 

\- - -

 

“Will you stop it! Stop- Louis!"

Harry reaches a hand down towards the ground beside the bed to catch himself when he ultimately falls over the edge. Louis has taken it upon himself to test the strength of his calves to see how many pushes it will take for Harry to roll over and onto the ground, sitting with his back against the wall, holding onto the bunk above him to give him some extra leverage.

“You should have thought about this before you got into bed with me, Harold, this is what you get!” He's laughing, the sound increasing in volume as Harry finally gives up and slides onto the floor as gently as possible. The ground is padded with clothes and blankets so it's not like it hurts, but he still gives a gruff little grunt as he lands.

“You're a shit cuddler, mate,” he says as Louis pokes his head over the edge, sticking a hand out to ruffle Harry's curls. Harry whines and moves his head away and Louis huffs comically.

“I'll show you cuddle, give me a moment though, love, I need a tinkle,” he groans, smacking Harry's stomach and making him curl up, before crawling out of bed and exiting the room. Harry hears a slapping sound and lifts his head to see Zayn walk in, shaking his head with a smile on his face and a hand rubbing at his bum. Harry raises a hand lazily in greeting as Zayn spots him laying by his bed.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Zayn asks, ruffling through his suitcase that has half its contents in the actual case, and half of it scattered on the floor by his own bed. He looks over at Harry in question.

“Chillin'” Harry says in the accent Zayn always puts on to be funny. Zayn snorts and Harry smiles, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

“Weirdo,” Zayn mutters with a smile on his face and Harry lets out a laugh that may be just a tad too loud. Zayn chuckles.

“Not laying there pondering about how much of an intellectual genius I am then?” Zayn grins down into his suitcase and Harry rolls his eyes, sighing loudly.

“Am I ever gonna be able to live this down?” Zayn laughs. “And I didn't say you were a genius, not once did those words leave my mouth.”

“It's okay, mate,” Zayn says around a smile, standing upright with his toiletry bag in one hand, rummaging through it slowly. “I liked it, you should tell me more actually, what else do you like about me, Harry?”

Harry reaches out for the nearest sock lying on the floor and chucks it at Zayn who easily side-steps his measly throw. Zayn giggles happily.

“Hey, don't worry, man. It was cute,” Zayn smiles, turning away with the two bottles he's managed to fish out of the bag, leaning over his suitcase again.

“Oh, so I'm cute now,” Harry speaks up cheekily in retort, grinning at the back of Zayn's head. “Cute and weird, do tell me more, Zayn,” he says, mimicking Zayn's words.

Zayn huffs out a chuckle, straightening up with a towel in his hand.

“Later, babes,” he says, accent thick as ever, and Harry's stomach does a strange flip. “I'll tell you all about it,” Zayn does that funny wiggle of his eyebrows and Harry copies him in a heartbeat, matching grins on both of their faces before Harry bursts out into another laugh. Zayn heads out with his stuff in his arms, dodging another sock on his way out and giving Harry a smirking frown before he disappears behind the open door, Harry giggling after him from his place still on the floor.

He sighs when he's alone again, looking to his left under the bed, seeing the dust bunnies that have gathered there and makes a mental note of randomly bringing up the state of their room to Mary during dinner later.

Louis practically bursts into the room a second later, making Harry flinch and cover his crotch automatically, but Louis dives straight onto the bed again, crawling over to look down at Harry who is exactly where he left him.

“What in god's name are you doing on the floor, lad?” he furrows his brows exaggeratedly and Harry rolls his eyes.

“The worst cuddler and the slowest tinkler in the world,” Harry groans as he gets up from the floor and climbs into bed. Louis is sitting back against the wall again, and throws his legs over Harry's lap the moment he has laid down on the bed. He's munching on a Daim bar, holding an unopened one in his other hand.

“Did you find those in the loo?” Harry asks, tucking his hands under his head and nodding at the chocolate bars. Louis nods, and pushes the unopened one in Harry's face.

“Yeah. Eat.” Harry laughs.

 

\- - -

 

“Uhm, you can just- yeah, just leave your shoes wherever and- I can take that if you want,” Harry reaches out a hand to hold Zayn's rucksack as he takes his shoes off in Harry's hallway. Most of Harry's own shoes are tucked into a closet upstairs, but the ones he uses most regularly are stood on the shoe rack he has standing a little ways inside the door, something that Anne was very impressed with the first time she came to visit. Zayn nudges his own pair to stand by the side of it, standing up straight after he's done and turning to Harry who flinches to life the instant Zayn's eyes are on his, having watched his every movement just a tad bit too intensely.

“Here you go,” he says, holding out Zayn's backpack to him which Zayn takes with a smile.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Harry's brain does the biggest fart in the history of brain farts and he finds himself standing there in the hallway with nothing to say, not a single thing, just smiling back at Zayn, tight-lipped and probably way too wide-eyed. Zayn raises his eyebrows back at him in question, a small smile on his face still, until the silence gets too heavy and long and he turns his head to look around further into the house. Harry is fully aware of everything that is happening, of his stupid self who seems to have forgotten every word in the English language, yet he can't manage to do anything about it. It's positively terrifying, and he can feel his heart beating loudly in his chest as he looks at Zayn's profile, seeing him bite his lip gently before turning back to look at Harry again, twisting his lips and clearing his throat. Harry curses himself and every little thing he has ever said and done in his whole entire life.

“This... is lovely. The place, it looks great,” Zayn tries, looking up towards the walls and the ceiling in appreciation before letting his eyes drift back to Harry. Finally something clicks in Harry's head and the cogs in his brain machine start turning again after the way too lengthy melt-down.

“Thanks!” he says, too loudly, but Zayn just smiles, nodding, probably just as thankful of Harry's new found brainpower as Harry is.

“You want me to- I could show you around if you want?” he offers quickly, and Zayn nods again.

“Yeah, sure, that'd be cool,” he says, gripping his backpack with both hands now, thumbing over the little top strap that he's holding onto, and Harry quickly diverts his eyes up from where his gaze has landed too far down on Zayn's body.

“Come on,” Harry nods towards the staircase before heading up to the top floor, Zayn following quietly behind him. He takes the chance to try and get his mind and body to settle down, feeling so many things bubble inside of him in literally every part of his being. He'd give himself a slap across the face, honestly, but he's acted enough of a stupid weirdo already, he thinks as he fleetingly lets an image of Zayn's shocked face as Harry violently punches himself in the mouth fly through his head.

As they reach the top of the stairs Harry's mind clears up and he stops abruptly just before he's about to step out onto the landing. An alarm goes off in his head and he quickly turns, Zayn having stopped along with him, a questioning look on his face as Harry meets his gaze, his own eyes probably as wide as Zayn's look.

“Forget something?” Zayn asks, a hand still on the handrail.

Harry frantically searches through his brain for a good excuse.

“Uhm, no,” he starts, cursing his feet for automatically heading upstairs. “There's- actually, there's a bit of a mess up there so, maybe we shouldn't take a look right now, it's not very interesting anyway, so, uhm,” he's definitely babbling, but he doesn't care, and he makes a gesture for Zayn to turn around so they can go back down, all before Zayn can even open his mouth to object. His eyes are wide in confusion but he just says a low “Alright,” before heading down again.

Harry sighs out quietly, letting a hand quickly move up to rub across his face. He's been psyching himself up for this whole thing from the minute he hung up on Jeff when he was sitting out on Anne's patio, and he's gonna pull through, they both are, he's made up his mind. Both of them, together, unscathed and just the same as they were before this all happened. He's gonna be on, and professional and he's gonna make it work. This is gonna be a good experience and he isn't gonna regret a thing once it's all over.

But it's been too long, yet too short of a time all at once. A long time has passed, yet nowhere near enough, and though Harry is really gonna try to be on his best and most normal and unfazed behaviour he can't let Zayn step into the one place where he lets all his guards down. He can't be standing in the doorway, watching Zayn inside his bedroom, where the things closest to his heart lay buried and hidden, where he leaves all of his inner most secret thoughts behind every morning when he gets out of bed. His bedroom where Zayn never took the chance to step into until now. Now, four years later, when it won't mean nearly as much to him as Harry so desperately wanted it to back then.

No.

If it's one thing that Harry has learned during these past couple of years, more than anything, it's to never pass up the opportunity to save yourself from unnecessary pain. It's a skill that he wishes he had learnt ages ago, before he was given a reason to realise that he needed to learn it. Some would say it's sad, and maybe it is. But it's practical, and it's sensible, and it's served Harry well so far.

He runs a hand through his hair, and walks down after Zayn who takes a right, walking ahead of Harry into the living area.

“This view is sick,” Zayn says, walking over to the large windows, dropping his bag by the sofa on the way. Harry smiles, standing back by the archway.

“I'm sure you must see something similar from yours?” he says, giving himself kudos for being able to talk properly for once.

He watches Zayn shrug his shoulders, still with his back to him, looking out at the big lawn below.

“Yeah, we've got a good spot, lots of grounds to cover, which is always good.” Zayn laughs a bit, craning his head to look to the sides of the house. Harry swallows, trying not to dwell on one word in particular and nods along. Zayn turns around again and Harry thinks quickly.

“You wanna go see the back?”

Zayn nods gently and Harry smiles, leading the way towards the back garden.

There's not a cloud in sight today, and they both squint at the sudden change in light as they step outside. Zayn walks down the steps and Harry follows him to where stone meets grass.

“It's beautiful,” Zayn says softly, turning to Harry with a smile. Harry just nods, letting his own eyes drift a bit, purposefully drawing his gaze away from Zayn's squinting eyes and upturned mouth. He took a few laps around the pool this morning to try and let off some steam and is just about thinking about going over and fetch the bottle of water that he left out here when Zayn speaks up again.

“That yours?” Harry turns to see Zayn point at the trampoline standing to the left on the opposite side of the lawn. Zayn's smile has grown wider and he looks back at Harry incredulously. Harry finds himself blushing, for whatever reason, he doesn't know. It's just a trampoline.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. “Well, it's- I got it for Jeff's daughter, really. I don't know why, she's only two but. It seemed like a good idea at the time. She'll grow into it, I guess,” he shrugs. Nothing he says seems to make sense anymore, but Zayn just nods, looking back at the trampoline for a second.

“I thought you sold this place actually?” Zayn asks, before correcting himself. “I mean clearly you didn't, because...” his laugh is a bit awkward but Harry barely notices, too caught up in the fact that Zayn somehow knows anything about the plans Harry had for his house four years ago.

Zayn might be thinking the same thing because he raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, something that Harry recognises as a sign of him being uncomfortable. Funny how so many things stay the same, even when so much time has passed.

“Uh,” Harry gets out. “Yeah. Well, I did, but...” he trails off, debating on whether to be upfront or not. He decides against it. “I got sick of the new place, and then this was still available so. Yeah, I love this house,” he explains, very poorly, but Zayn just nods, a slight frown between his eyebrows that Harry ignores, before clearing his throat and looking out at the guest house.

“Do you...” Harry starts, waving away the many questions that are starting to fill his head, while all of a sudden remembering what they're both doing here together in the first place. Zayn turns towards him for his next words. “Shall we go inside?” Harry almost cringes at how formal he sounds, but Zayn answers “Sure”, and they head up the stairs again.

Zayn sits down on the sofa as soon as they get back into the livingroom, reaching for his backpack and pulling it up on the seat beside him. He looks like he's about to dive into it before he hesitates and folds his hands in his lap looking very out of place all of a sudden. He looks up at Harry expectantly, who doesn't quite know what to say. A moment of silence falls over them before Harry speaks up.

“I'll go get us something to drink,” he says, catching Zayn's smile in response before he quickly leaves the room.

Once again Harry feels like a silly teenager, as he enters the kitchen only to stop by the island, gripping the worktop tightly and taking a few calming breaths. The fact that just being in Zayn's presence is enough to make him a fumbling stuttering mess, still to this day, after all this fucking time, is enough to make him want to bang his head against the granite he's holding onto for dear life. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had tried to make sure of it.

He shakes his head. Being alone like this and letting his thoughts run wild and free isn't helping, he knows that, and he also knows that he is taking way too long to get a stupid drink from the kitchen, but Zayn is sitting on his sofa in his livingroom and he needs a moment. He can do this. He can. Not letting himself think anymore, he grabs the two bottles of water still sitting there on the counter and heads back to the livingroom.

Zayn's opened his backpack but moves his hands to his thighs when he sees Harry coming towards him.

“Thanks,” he says as Harry places the bottles on the coffee table in front of him. Zayn is sitting on one end of the L-shaped sofa so Harry pointedly takes a seat on the other, flinching inwardly as Zayn moves a couple feet closer, dragging his bag along with him.

“Uhm,” Zayn starts, wiggling about a bit to get comfortable on the cushions. “I don't know if you've maybe started working on something, or?” his voice trails off unsurely, a questioning hint to it. Harry shakes his head. He hasn't, of course. Just the thought of getting to see Zayn again has been enough to keep his mind busy. And it's not like he would have anyway, he's started to accept that now, and he doesn't know what he's gonna do about it now that they're here but something in him is telling him to just play along.

Harry shakes his head. “No, nothing, thought I'd wait for us to get together first.” He can feel his cheeks slowly start to heat up and quickly moves on. “Have you?”

“No. Well-” Zayn stops himself, starting to rub his palms up and down his thighs absentmindedly. “I, uh, well I wrote down some ideas, just like, to get us going,” he says almost shyly, and Harry resists the instinctive urge to smile. “You wanna see?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry nods with a tight-lipped smile and Zayn gives one back, though his is much more genuine than the strange one Harry can feel on his own face.

“'Kay,” Zayn turns away to pull a notepad and a pen out of his bag.

“Pen and paper?” Harry comments, eyeing the items in Zayn's hand. “How very old-school of you,” he says, wanting to take it back as soon as the words have left his mouth, worrying Zayn might take his tone of voice the wrong way, but Zayn just chuckles, looking down at the things in his hands.

“Yeah, I prefer to write like this actually, I don't know, makes it feel more authentic and genuine somehow, like I'm really present for it,” he shrugs his shoulders, and Harry nods along, feeling his stare get too intense again. Zayn looks up at him and Harry looks down at the notepad.

“Yeah, me too,” he says before daring to look back up again. Zayn smiles.

“Did you want to get something to write on?” Zayn asks, looking at the way Harry is sitting, elbows on his knees, grasping his forearms.

“Uhm,” Harry starts, once again thinking of something clever to say to make himself sound believable. “No, that's okay. My moleskine is way up in my room anyway, so,” he trails off, trying to make his voice sound as final as possible without coming off too blunt. His journal has been laying in a drawer in his bedroom for what must be going on two years now, and regardless of if it hadn't, if Harry had actually been using it regularly, there is no way on earth that he would ever let Zayn get a look into it, or even dare open it with him in the room.

“Oh,” Zayn looks down at his own notepad. “Well, we can share,” he says, and opens the notepad and tearing out a couple of sheets of paper quickly before Harry can say anything else. “Here,” he says, laying the paper on the glass surface of the coffee table. “And, I think I have another pen in here, hold on,” he mutters, rummaging through his bag and making an 'aha' noise, pulling out a pen and laying it on the paper. “There you go.” Zayn smiles looking at the little spread on the table, and then back up at Harry who has barely had the chance to react until now.

“Thank you,” he gets out, managing what he thinks might possibly look like a smile. Luckily, Zayn doesn't notice, or he pretends not to, and clicks his pen open, flipping onto a page in his notepad where's he's scribbled some lines.

“So, I thought,” Zayn starts, scooting closer to Harry even more, making Harry tense up just a bit. “Like, since it's Comic Relief, I thought that we- it should probably be like something really positive, like with an uplifting message or whatever, maybe even a love song to be honest, but we'll see where we're headed once we get going properly,” he rambles on, and is about to delve deeper into his written notes judging by the way he is holding his pen just above the first line, almost like a pointer, and Harry holds his breath, trying to look as interested and involved as he knows he should, while also attempting to ignore the fact that he can feel Zayn's body heat with how close they're now sitting.

Zayn goes silent all of a sudden, but Harry keeps his eyes on the paper, his stare unmoving, waiting for Zayn to go on. A soft sigh makes him look up suddenly, completely forgetting for a second how little space is between them. Zayn's brow is furrowed, which is about all that Harry allows himself to notice before he quickly looks down at the notes on the page instead.

“What is it?” Harry asks, trying for a nonchalant tone, glancing at Zayn out of the corner of his eye before letting his gaze flicker back to the notepad.

“Harry, you're acting weird,” Zayn says, and the shock at being caught out makes Harry forget about their close proximity, and he looks up at Zayn with wide eyes.

“Wha'?” he says, dumbly.

“You're acting really weird,” Zayn's voice has almost a sad tone to it and Harry clears his throat to try and pretend that he never heard it in the first place.

“I'm- I'm not?” It comes out as a question more than a statement, and Harry shakes his head at himself inwardly.

“Yes, you are,” Zayn doesn't let him off, seeing right through his poor attempt at acting like everything is fine. “What's wrong?” The furrow in his brow is still there, but Zayn's voice is firmer now, more demanding, and it makes Harry drop his act a bit, just like Zayn must have known that it would.

Harry lets himself sigh, some of the tension in his body automatically floating away with it.

“Nothing's wrong,” he starts, and Zayn opens his mouth to keep pushing but Harry beats him to it. “I'm... I guess I just feel a bit out of my depth. I haven't actually written anything in, well, in years.” he admits quietly, finally sneaking a glance back up at Zayn's face. It's not the whole reason, but it's the most he can give without making himself too vulnerable.

Zayn looks more confused now, his eyebrows raised sligthly in suprise. “Why?” His voice is soft and Harry feels his heart beat in his stomach.

Because that's how long it's been since you broke my heart, and I haven't been able to do anything properly since.

He clenches his jaw for a second.

“Uhm,” he turns to look at Zayn's scribbles again. “I don't know. I've just, I've had other stuff to think about, I guess. Decided to focus more on acting and, uh. Guess time just flew by quicker than I thought,” he laughs a bit, moving a hand up to scratch behind his ear. “You might have to teach me a thing or two actually,” he tries for a smile, and it seems to work because Zayn smiles back, looking a lot less concerned than he did a minute ago.

“You'll fall right back into it, I'm sure. I'll go slow,” Zayn gives a crooked little smile, and Harry forces out another laugh, even though he feels like the best thing for him to do right now would be to leave the room and never come back.

“You sure that's all?” Zayn goes on, and Harry hears himself curse inside his head. This time though, he can't seem to find anything clever to say, and just looks up at Zayn.

It's not all, please don't push it.

“Because this _is_ weird, like, let's not even pretend that it isn't,” Zayn gives an awkward laugh, but his face is genuine and serious. “But... I just thought it'd be a cool thing for us to do together, like. As mates.”

Harry hears the tinge of hopefulness in Zayn's voice, but it has to take a backseat to the phantom feeling of getting punched in the stomach. A sudden burst of effort takes over him, and he pushes the feeling aside, looking up at Zayn who's still watching him, that hope as visible in his eyes as in his voice. Zayn continues.

“I know it's been fucking ages,” Zayn says, a sigh evident in his voice. “But we're alright still, yeah?”

Looking at the almost desperate hopefulness in Zayn's eyes, Harry can't bring himself to do anything but nod. They might not be. Harry might not be. But he wants to be. Looking into Zayn's eyes, he wants to be, so badly.

“Yeah,” he whispers out, taking the first step at attempting to make his words into reality. Zayn smiles warmly, and Harry swallows, his lips turning upwards by their own accord. Zayn nods, and a silence falls over the two of them.

“It's just,” Harry gets out. “It's been so long.” he tries, and Zayn must sense it. There are so many underlying feelings behind every single word, so many memories and so many things left unspoken, and Zayn knows it as well as Harry does, Harry is more than aware of that. But while Harry is still struggling with every single action, Zayn doesn't seem to be, just like Harry was expecting, just like Harry knew he wouldn't be, and that makes everything just a tiny bit scarier. Or easier. Harry hasn't decided yet. Zayn hums.

“It has,” he agrees. Harry looks up and they lock eyes again. There are a thousand questions in Zayn's eyes, but to Harry's luck, he doesn't ask anything.

“I have missed you, you know,” Zayn's voice is so gentle, a little smile on his face while still trying to act just a bit reprimanding, and the way he's looking at Harry makes him feel like he's seeing every little bit of him, from the inside and out.

Harry bites the inside of his lip, looking down at where Zayn is still holding onto the pen, his hand resting on the notepad. Harry braces himself before meeting his eyes again.

“Me too,” he says. “Have missed you,” he corrects himself, huffing out a laugh and feeling his cheeks get warm again. It is the truth.

Zayn chuckles, knocking his knee into Harry's.

“So, now we've acknowledged the situation. Are you gonna stop being weird?” There's a teasing tilt to Zayn's voice, yet he still sounds like an adult talking to a young child, and Harry breathes out a laugh, making Zayn's smile grow.

“Yep,” Harry nods, making a true effort. “Well,” he adds quickly, trying for a joke, and Zayn laughs, shaking his head. He scratches the back of his head with the hand not holding his pen, before letting it drop down on the notepad with a smack.

“You wanna head out for a bit?”

Harry raises his eyebrows in mild confusion. “What, now?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods to himself, dropping the pen and the pad on the coffee table. “Let's go out, clear our heads for a bit, maybe get some inspiration,” he shrugs, standing up and looking back down at Harry expectantly.

Harry joins him quickly, looking down at his wrist watch.

“Well, it is about lunch time,” he says, looking up as Zayn pats his shoulder in agreement.

“Come on,” Zayn says briskly, a smile on his face. “Let's go.”

 

\- - -

 

To say that 2011 has been the best year of Harry's life doesn't seem like enough of a statement. Trying to describe everything that has happened to him and the other boys and how it's made him feel is just about impossible, and all Harry can really do is do his best to soak it in and try not to cry every night before bed because of how happy and lucky he feels, every single day. It's been a state of constant euphoria, and Harry wouldn't trade it for the world.

They've been so busy, recording the album, promoting the books and going on radio tours all over Britain. The trip to America was more than any of them could have ever imagined, filming their music video and feeling like they were literally riding on the waves of a wonderful dream. A dream that they've yet to wake from, a dream that Harry hopes will never end.

None of it feels like work, but it definitely does get tiring, physically, and getting some well earned rest has been good for them all. They've had the whole day off today, which isn't at all much, but at this point they'll happily take what they can get, and look more than content and at ease where they all lay sprawled out on the sofas in Harry and Louis' living room. They've got a fairly early morning tomorrow, a car being arranged to pick them all up at seven sharp, but none of them could say no to Niall's idea of having a boys night in, or a slumber party as Harry had called it.

He's lounging on the floor with a blanket thrown over his bent legs, back against one of the sofas, trying to focus on the Scrubs episode playing on the TV while Liam and Louis bicker about where the popcorn bowl should go between them. They're on the other sofa, spread out carelessly with blankets around them.

“What if we do it like this,” Liam proposes, making them both manoeuver around so they're facing each other, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa with their backs to the armrest. Liam places the bowl so it's balancing on his shins. “So we'll have to do a sit-up whenever we want to eat some, get our workout in at the same time,” he says with a smile like it's the best idea anyone has ever had. Harry snorts, popping some more Hula Hoops into his mouth.

Louis scrunches his face up, looking at Liam as if he's crazy, before quickly grabbing the bowl and resting it in his own lap, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it in his mouth, pointedly looking at Liam who just giggles as he watches Louis munching.

“There are two kinds of people,” Zayn laughs lazily. He's on the sofa that Harry is leaning against, occupying the whole thing with one hand thrown over his head. Harry turns to his left, reaching a hand up for Zayn to taste his Hula Hoops, Zayn moving his hand down to stroke Harry's hair in thanks.

“God, this is boring, is there nothing else on?” Louis says through a mouthful of popcorn. Harry reaches for the remote on the coffee table and starts flicking through the channels.

“Oh, I love this film,” he says, stopping at a channel showing Brokeback Mountain. Half the movie has already gone by but Harry puts the remote down anyway, leaning back again and eating some more snacks.

“I _hate_ it,” Niall says. “It's so fucking sad.” But Harry just shushes him and they all watch the film in silence for a couple of minutes.

Jack and Ennis have just been reunited for the first time in a long time, and they move to where they think is a secluded spot by Ennis' house to passionately kiss each other in greeting.

“Who would you kiss, out of the two of them? Like, if you had to kiss one of them, who would you choose?” Louis breaks the silence, mouth filled with popcorn again. Harry just laughs, while Liam frowns at Louis and then the TV.

“I don't know,” he ponders, tilting his head. “I mean I've never actually kissed a boy before,” he adds as if it's the most obvious thing ever.

“You haven't?” Louis asks, mild surprise in his voice. Liam's frown grows deeper.

“No, have you?” he retorts, an almost defensive hint to his tone.

“Yeah!” Louis exclaims, looking at Liam as if assuming anything else would be ludicrous. “I've snogged all my friends!” he says before laughing at the face Liam is making, as if he can't be sure if Louis is telling the truth or not. “What about you, Niall?” Louis turns his gaze towards where Niall is still laying on the floor in front of him.

“Never,” Niall says, seemingly unbothered by the question.

“Really?” Louis says, voice the same as with Liam. “You want me to kiss you right now?”

“Don't even think about it,” Niall says, raising a hand out as if Louis is about to pounce on him. Louis laughs again.

“Harry has, definitely,” he goes on, looking over at Harry who just nods. He has, a couple of times actually, just for fun.

“Yeah, on like dares an' stuff,” he replies, reaching forward for his glass of Cola on the table.

“Good lad,” Louis says, and him and Harry do an air high-five making Liam giggle a bit before reaching over for some more popcorn from Louis' lap, Louis having turned his focus to somewhere behind Harry. “Zayn?”

“What?” Zayn says, and Harry can already hear the tension in his voice, but he sips his drink and waits.

“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Louis' eyebrows are raised expectantly. Zayn stays silent for long enough that Liam and Niall both turn their gazes toward him, Harry being the only one staying put, his eyes on the TV, but his ears listening intently for what Zayn is gonna say next.

“Uhm, yeah I have,” Zayn says unsurely and Harry can imagine him shrugging his shoulders where he is laying behind him on the sofa. “I- yeah.” He trails off, very obviously stopping himself from saying anything more.

“Yeah? Elaborate,” Louis says, turning his face down for some more popcorn before fixing his gaze on Zayn once more.

There's another short silence and Harry keeps his eyes on the TV, his ears perked to their fullest potential.

“Just- this boy,” Zayn is almost mumbling. He clears his throat. “One of my first kisses was with a boy actually.”

Harry tries his best not to let his eyebrows raise on his forehead like they instinctively want to. Louis makes a humming sound of surprise and approval.

“Was that before brick-girl?” Niall asks, still with the same unbothered tone. Zayn huffs out a small laugh, and his next words sound a lot more relaxed. “Nah, that was my first one.” He clears his throat again. “And then... yeah.” He says, as if he wants to go on, but he stops himself at the last minute.

Louis doesn't seem to be fooled. “And then what?”

“Uhm,” Harry turns his head slightly to the left to see Zayn's hand fiddle with the strands on the blanket that he has laying over his legs. “And then... There was this guy in school once. Yeah, that's about it.” he says, with a certain finality.

“How old were you?” Niall asks.

“Sixteen.” Zayn has got the blanket in a tight fist now, rubbing with his thumb over the fabric. Harry looks up and they lock eyes. He gives a couple of nods and turns his face into a look of casualness, as if it's no big deal. It isn't. Zayn shrugs again.

“Cool,” Niall says, and moves up to grab some popcorn from Louis who squawks and pulls the bowl away, making popcorn fly all over the sofa, and Liam huffs out in mild annoyance while Niall cackles loudly. Harry laughs at them, but he can still somehow feel Zayn's nerves from behind him. He looks down at his lap before turning towards him, stretching out his arm.

“Hoop?”

The tension falls completely from Zayn's face and he chuckles. He grabs a couple and pops them in his mouth. “Thanks, mate.”

Harry whines, leaning his head back against the sofa and Zayn rolls his eyes with a smile on his face, moving his hand down to stroke through Harry's hair. Harry does his best impression of a cat, closing his eyes and making a purring sound in his voice with his eyes closed, making Zayn laugh, and Harry smiles happily at the sound.

 

 

Lunchtime has just about finished and Harry is sitting on a sofa in the dressing room at the photo shoot the next day. Zayn is getting his hair done over, sitting in front of the large mirror with Lou fixing him up for the next hours on set. The other three are off playing some football in the car park outside the building. Louis had asked Harry to join but he'd been too tired. That's what he'd said at least, but ten minutes later he'd been on his feet in the dressing room dancing around randomly to 'Jessie's Girl', dragging along a giggling Zayn – who doesn't really play football – before Lou had come in to see Zayn's hair a floppy mess and proceeded to drag him into a chair in front of the mirror, much to Harry's loud complaining, as Zayn just kept laughing, Lou shaking her head and her bottle of hairspray.

Harry'd been retorted to slump down on the sofa, staying around to keep Zayn company as he now gets all dolled up all over again, and having spent the last twenty minutes or so trying not to laugh at the stupid faces Harry has been making at him through the mirror.

“Oh, great,” Lou says, shaking the bottle of hairspray widly. “I've got some more in the car, I'll be right back,” she nods at Zayn before swiftly leaving the room.

Harry turns his phone over and over in his hands absentmindedly, that he's been fiddling with in a bored manner, watching Zayn watch himself in the mirror, moving his hand up to stroke down over his sideburns. There hasn't been a massive change in behaviour or anything, and nothing that anyone else would probably notice, but he's still been off today somehow, in spite of the laughing and dancing, and Harry has sensed it. He's always been quite good at reading people, and someone like Zayn who wears his heart on his sleeve just makes it all the more easier, whether Zayn is aware of it or not.

Zayn is quiet now, noticably so after their previous antics, looking down at his nails and Harry gets up from the sofa, walking over to flop down in the chair beside Zayn, facing forward. He knocks his knee into Zayn's, making him look up with a small smile, the two of them locking eyes in the mirror. Zayn knocks his knee back into Harry's and a little knee fight starts up between them that Harry finally surrenders to, both of them giggling under their breath. They keep their eyes on each other in the mirror, the silence anything but awkward before Harry decides to speak.

“You alright?”

Zayn nods almost automatically.

“You sure?” Harry asks quietly.

“Mhm,” Zayn hums, looking down at his nails again.

“You're a shit liar, mate,” Harry says with no hesitation, a small smirk growing on his face. Zayn looks up at him from under his eyelashes, hand still spread out in his lap. Harry raises his eyebrows. Zayn laughs a bit, shrugging.

“Just tired, s'all.” He stretches his arms up over his head and yawns pointedly.

“Are you thinking about last night?” Harry has been thinking about it, so Zayn must have been too.

Zayn drops his arms heavily on the armrests. He shakes his head in defeat. “How?”

Harry laughs at his face. “I'm intuitive, Zayn, what can I say. You can't fool me.”

Zayn shakes his head again, the corners of his mouth slightly turned up. He shrugs, looking back down into his lap, and Harry waits.

“What?” he pushes gently.

“I know it's stupid to even think, but like,” he sighs. “I know you guys are cool and all, like I know that. I just feel like I maybe shouldn't have said anything. Just in case things got like, weird.” Zayn gets out finally, his voice trailing off into a mutter.

“That _is_ stupid,” Harry keeps his eyes on Zayn through the mirror. Zayn looks up. “Why would it be weird?” Harry asks, frowning.

Zayn bites his lip and looks down. “Dunno.”

“You kissed a guy, so what? So've I,” Harry shrugs, putting some extra ease behind his voice to let Zayn know that everything is cool.

Zayn raises his eyebrows at his own lap. “Yeah, well, mine definitely wasn't on a dare though.” He says, keeping his eyes on his fingers, fiddling with his nails again.

Harry ignores the strange swooping feeling in his stomach.

“It doesn't matter how it happened, or why. It doesn't have to be a big deal, right?”

“No,” Zayn agrees. Harry's thoughts are a jumbled mess. He really doesn't want to say the wrong thing, or make Zayn think that- he doesn't even know. But he has to ask.

“So. It's like a thing? Is that why you're worrying?” It's not very well-put, but Zayn seems to get it. He hesitates a moment, and Harry turns to the side to look at Zayn properly.

“Nah,” Zayn scrunches up his face a bit, but it doesn't look completely convincing, and he probably realises because he drops the act slightly. “I mean, I- I liked it. It was nice.” His voice is almost a whisper at this point. Harry nods.

“And it's not like I've, like I've lied about anything else, and like. Put on an act about liking something, or someone, you know?” His voice is louder now, and a bit more rushed, like he's really trying to get Harry to believe him, and when he turns his face Harry's way, Harry does. It's all there, in his eyes. He nods again, and Zayn nods back. He's being very consciously vague and avoiding certain words, Harry notices, but he doesn't say anything, because he wants Zayn to be comfortable, with the situation and with himself.

“But, it's really not a big deal,” Zayn says, agreeing with Harry's words.

“Of course not,” Harry nods back at him, shrugging. “Unless you want it to be,” he adds, as the thought strikes him. “It can be as little or as big of a deal as you want.”

Zayn smiles at him, his eyes full of amusement and fondness. “Since when did you become school counselor?”

Harry huffs out a laugh and shrugs again. “But you know what I mean though?” he pushes, not letting up until Zayn gets it, gets that it really is cool.

“I know,” Zayn smiles, turning back towards the mirror, a faint redness to his cheeks. He lets out a huge breath. “Cool.”

“And if anyone has anything to say about it, they can come to _me_ ,” Harry dramatically juts a thumb in his own direction, his spinning chair fully turned towards Zayn now. Zayn snorts.

“Right, Harry,” he says, accent thick as always, and Harry smiles.

“Really,” he says, voice quiter and more serious.

Zayn bites down on a small smile in the mirror, before blindly reaching out a hand for Harry's armrest, pulling him so he's facing the mirror instead of him. Harry grins secretively.

“You feel better?” he asks, going back to a casual tone.

“Now that you've pulled it all out of me? Yeah, loads,” Zayn says sarcastically, but there's still a smile on his lips and Harry puts his arms on the table in front of himself, laying his head on them to face Zayn still.

“Good,” he mumbles, feeling very sleepy all of a sudden. Zayn turns to him with that same amused little smile and they lock eyes again. Until Harry can't help himself and surges up from his seat to give Zayn a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, complete with added noises and everything.

“Mate! Watch the hair!” Zayn fends him off, trying and failing to choke down a giggle, and Harry rolls his eyes through a smile, about to open his mouth in response before he's rudely interrupted by Louis, Liam and Niall bursting through the door.

“Time's up! Let's go!” Niall shouts from where he is standing by the door, holding it open for the rest of them to pass through. Liam chucks the football into a corner and Louis goes straight to Zayn, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

“You can't get any prettier, Zayn, I promise you, now chop chop, Harold!” He gestures for Harry to follow as well, who manages to lock eyes with a bewildered Zayn who's barely had time to process what's happening.

 _See?_ Harry raises his eyebrows at Zayn, and Zayn laughs, shaking his head and grabs Harry's arm before Louis tugs them both out of the room.

Harry requests for some Rick Springfield to play in the background once they get back into the studio, and when they're all standing in front of the camera again, he sneaks into the place beside Zayn at first chance. He bumps their hips together and Zayn smiles to himself, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye while keeping his head towards the camera.

As the photographer starts talking to Liam and Louis standing on their other side, Zayn tucks his pinky finger into Harry's hand hiding behind his. He keeps it there for several shots, and the swooping feeling in Harry's stomach does a complete somersault.

 

\- - -

 

The drive to the food place is filled with casual small talk. It surprises Harry how quickly they both get into a normal casual conversation, the strange awkwardness starting to disappear with every word spoken. Zayn may be the one filling in the silences and pushing the conversation, but Harry can already feel himself start to relax in his company. The shock at seeing him again was always gonna be pretty bad, he was expecting that, and wasn't proved wrong in the slightest, but now that they've adressed it, he can finally start to try and squash those feelings of uneasiness he's felt all morning.

“Actually, do you think we could go for a takeaway?” Zayn says, glancing at the big glass windows framing the restaurant. He squints at Harry from under his lashes and Harry follows his gaze. It's approaching two in the afternoon on a monday and looking at the people coming in and out of the restaurant Harry also starts to realise that they might not have thought this through. He may be starting to get more comfortable with all of this quite quickly, but he's not sure he could take the staring and the attention right about now while he's still feeling more than a bit fragile.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Harry says, unbuckling his seat belt and looking back at Zayn. “What would you like?”

“Uhm,” Zayn glances back at the restaurant. Harry'd asked him where he wanted to go and Zayn had just shrugged and told Harry to choose, whose hands had taken on a life of their own and found themselves driving to one of his usual haunts. It's definitely not In-N-Out, which Harry now thinks might have been a better choice, considering who he's with. Judging by the look on Zayn's face, he hasn't magically sprouted a liking for “unnecessarily healthy eating” (Harry remembers), and Harry is just about to offer to go somewhere else when Zayn shrugs.

“Surprise me,” he smiles, and Harry has to force himself from not clearing his throat and make it awkward again.

“'Kay,” he laughs instead and gets out of the car.

“Just nothing- too weird,” Zayn leans over a bit to say to him just as he's about to close the door. Harry can't help but roll his eyes, and Zayn grins, sitting back in his seat.

There's a fair few people eating inside but nothing over the top and Harry can easily go stand in line, looking up at the menu that he knows so well already. There's two people in front of him placing their orders and Harry sighs, scanning the different dishes for something suitable, quickly making up his mind and waiting for his turn. He can already feel people looking at him, but he keeps his eyes firmly away from any faces, not feeling up for being polite and friendly. He's always both of those things of course, and it's not like he's in a bad mood, but this day has already been a lot and it's hardly even begun. He's managed to develop a very one-track mind in the past hour and somehow he doesn't think he'd be the most comprehensible person to try and socialise with right now. All his efforts are still going into trying to keep his cool as much as possible. It's going alright so far, finally, and he doesn't need the distraction to get him off track.

The people in front of him are done, leaving him to step forward and place his order. The cashier is a girl he hasn't seen working here before, but luckily they're in a place where a fair amount of celebrites are seen on the regular and the people working in the area are more than used to having a familiar face come in to eat or shop. She does give him a wide-eyed look as he's telling her what he wants, but she quickly recovers, giving him the total, and he can step outside with his food in under fifteen minutes.

“Smells good,” Zayn says as Harry hands him the bag after getting in the car.

“See? I know what you like,” Harry says confidently, realising what he's said a second too late and managing not to choke on his own tongue, but Zayn just laughs, opening the bag to look inside, giving Harry the time to subtly recollect himself and get the car running. It's gonna be hard, he has already been able to tell, and he knows that, he was prepared for it. But he's fine. And he can do this. And he will.

He glances to the side as he pulls onto the street to see Zayn sneak a chip into his mouth, and Harry smiles to himself, feeling his stomach flutter with unidentifiable nerves, trying desperately to ignore the soft, inaudible humming inside his chest, and looks back at the road ahead.

 

\- - -

 

Australia is one of the most gorgeously beautiful places Harry has ever been. The weather is absolutely amazing, and has been consistently so for the entire duration of the two weeks they've already spent on the continent.

This is the life, Harry thinks as he stands on the deck of the yacht they've rented out for the day. Rented, or been offered to use, Harry's not completely sure. The technicalities of the luxuries aren't important to any of them, so long as they get the chance to enjoy them. Harry sniggers to himself, wiping his face off with the towel he has wrapped around his shoulders, watching Liam do a cannonball into the clear blue water. Staying grateful and humble is key, but sometimes you just have to smile and take what's being offered to you. None of this is normal, something they are all very aware of and Harry's not about to start taking any of it for granted. Nonetheless; it's a wicked fucking lifestyle.

Yesterday he was chugging champagne from the bottle, today he is jumping from a luxury yacht in the sunshine while his family on the other side of the world lay sleeping in their beds. It's as abnormal as it could possibly get, and Harry loves it.

Niall does a jump to match Liam's and Harry is just about quick enough to raise his towel as a shield, covering his face from the splash. He hears Niall's cackling laugh and can't help but laugh himself, lowering the towel to see Louis and Liam rub the water from their eyes just before a water fight is being started up. Harry rolls his eyes, not in the mood to get himself into the crossfire, and starts heading for the front of the boat.

Yesterday night had been a late one, and three hours ago Harry would have been laying sprawled out on a towel nursing a headache just like Zayn is now. He still feels a bit rough around the edges to be honest, but the dip in the ocean had done wonders as soon as he could be made sure of the fact that he wouldn't drown the moment he got in the water.

It was an eventful night to say the least, starting and ending in Harry's hotel room, a rowdy visit to the club squeezed in between. Him and Zayn, like it's usually come to be these days. Niall is not much for the party life, at least not within the levels that Harry and Zayn always seem to take it to, and Liam and Louis tend to keep each other busy in other ways. They're slowly but surely starting to turn into the old men of the group, something that Harry likes to tease them about, but Louis just shrugs it off. Louis, who used to love a good party, now would rather spend a night in and Skype with Eleanor just coming home from school. Harry would be more upset about it if it weren't for Zayn.

Zayn who also has a special someone waiting for him back home in England. Zayn who never passes up an opportunity to pick up a girl in the club to bring back to the hotel.

Harry hasn't decided if he should feel guilty about it or not. It's not his life, and Perrie is not his girlfriend, as much as Zayn is not his son or little brother who he can reprimand for acting out of order. But even if he was, Harry isn't so sure that he would care. Because he doesn't. Zayn is an eighteen-year-old lad and while Harry definitely ignores any fleeting thoughts riddled with something akin to guilt of the girl waiting for him back home, he's not gonna pretend like he thinks that Zayn is doing anything wrong.

The two of them are having way too much fun, and if wanting to keep his partner in crime is selfish, then yes, Harry is selfish. But he's young and he's dumb, and after last night, there is no way he would ever do anything to make this all stop.

He doesn't know who suggested it, but somehow they both found themselves in Harry's hotel room, each with a girl on their laps. It's never happened before, the two of them winding up in the same room with their respective shags but as Harry unclasped the bra of his girl (Arielle, she said her name was, and Harry had stupidly started singing 'Under The Sea' very loudly in the middle of the dancefloor, making Zayn look over his shoulder where he was standing talking to another girl, catching Harry's eyes and laughing, his whole face scrunching up cutely and distracting Harry from Arielle's own reaction) and found himself glancing to the side and seeing Zayn's girl pull his shirt off hurriedly, Zayn grinning up at her before latching his mouth onto her neck, he wondered in the back of his mind why he hadn't brought the concept up sooner.

He had come harder that night than he had in a long time, burying his face in Arielle's neck and trying his best to block out Zayn's moans from the bottom of the bed.

He grins as he sees Zayn laying topless on his towel, an idea popping up. As he reaches Zayn's side he takes a second to admire his sleeping face, before shaking his head like a dog and spraying him with water. Zayn groans and lifts a lazy hand to cover his face, making Harry laugh happily.

“Idiot,” Zayn grumbles, staying in the same position as Harry sits down beside him.

“Did you even put sunscreen on?” Harry looks at the expanse of Zayn's back, eyes travelling as far down as the dip at the bottom of his spine, just above where his bum is covered up by his jeans. A stolen glance from last night flashes through his mind without warning but Harry shakes it off. Zayn gives a lazy half-shrug and yawns, and Harry pulls his towel from around himself, draping it across Zayn's naked skin. Something tells him the action is for the well-being and sanity of both of them, but he ignores the thought as soon as it appears.

“It's wet,” Zayn mumbles, and Harry's curses himself for having such a dirty mind, and Zayn for sounding like he just woke up. Shocking.

“Good?” he lies down beside him, squinting at the blindingly bright sunlight. Zayn hums contently.

He's wearing sunglasses, and has been for the whole day, meeting Harry in the lift this morning, giving only a grunt in reply. Harry, being the gentleman that he is, had fallen asleep after rolling off his partner the night before, managing a wave goodbye as Arielle collected her clothes from the floor. The orgasm took a lot out of him and the last thing he remembers is telling her to say hi to Sebastian for him, before falling fast asleep to the sound of Zayn's giggle.

“Still feeling it?” Harry asks in a soft voice, not wanting to rouse Zayn's headache. He turns his head to face Zayn, squinting against the sunlight. Zayn's face is just about smushed against his forearms, his lips pushed together into an involuntary pout.

“Nah, just exhausted.” he mutters tiredly. “Last night was fun though, was definitely worth it.”

Harry nods in agreement, feeling a weird tingling sensation shooting through his back and all the way up his neck. It's the first time they've mentioned anything about the night before since it happened. Zayn hadn't been there when Harry was woken up by his phone's sharp ringing, their first meeting the morning after being in the lift, where the most Zayn could muster up was that grunt in acknowledgment. Harry doesn't realise until now that he's nervous about the topic being brought up. He doesn't know why, but something feels different. Zayn might not feel it, he hasn't sussed that out yet and he's not entirely sure he wants to, but Harry definitely does, and he reprimands himself and his brain for daring to make a big deal out of something that was nothing more than a bit of reckless fun. They've both been through a lot together, in more ways than with some of the other boys, so seeing each other fuck shouldn't be that much of a shocking addition to their friendship. But Harry is still trying to forget the way Zayn had sounded as he came last night, and for some reason, he almost hates himself for remembering it at all.

“Round two tonight then?” Harry grins cheekily and Zayn snorts.

“No chance. You wanna just stay in and chill for a bit? We could watch a movie or something maybe,” Zayn mumbles, his words slightly muffled against his arm. “I know the boys are doing something else but. Yeah. If you want.” he tries to muster up a tired shrug and Harry breathes out a chuckle.

“Sounds good to me,” he smiles, looking at the dark shades over Zayn's eyes, seeing his own reflection and the fondness on his face. Zayn smiles back, moving his head so his face is a bit more visible. He yawns widely.

“Good,” he sighs, and Harry smiles again, moving his face towards the sun and closing his eyes, listening to the rippling sound of the water against the side of the yacht.

 

 

“Not even twenty minutes in and you're already popping bottles,” Zayn shakes his head and pauses the movie playing on his laptop, watching Harry rise from his crouching position by the minibar with a bottle of Champagne in his hands. “Am I getting old or are you just that ridiculous, you had a fucking bottle last night, mate,” There's a laugh hiding in Zayn's voice and Harry grins, starting to press the cork up with his thumbs.

“When in Rome,” he says, tensing his body for the inevitable pop.

“You're not _in_ Rome, you idiot,” Zayn flinches away with furrowed brows, his eyes fixed on the bottle in Harry's hands. “Against the wall, against the wall,” he says and Harry points the Champagne bottle away from where he's stupidly been aiming it at the bed. The cork shoots out and they both jump at the noise before Harry giggles while trying to make sure none of the liquid falls onto the carpet.

“Hand me a glass then,” Zayn sighs, a smile on his face as he shakes his head at Harry's antics, eyeing the way Harry licks at his fingers, sticky from the Champagne.

Harry fetches two glasses and joins Zayn in bed again, sitting cross-legged and turning towards him. Zayn holds the glasses still for Harry to pour into and Harry bites his lip, trying to make it even. “No chugging today at least,” Zayn says quietly so as not to ruin Harry's concentration. Harry sits up properly again and smiles, leaning back to put the bottle on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Doesn't feel like a chugging kind of night, really,” he gets himself comfortable again, pulling the duvet over his naked legs (his sweatpants had had to go about five minutes in, Zayn not even bothering to pause the movie as Harry pulled them off and pushed them from under the duvet and onto the floor) and rubbing his back against the pillows pushed up against the headboard.

“Thank god,” Zayn says. “I feel fragile, still.”

“How much did you have last night?” Harry frowns at him, an amused smile on his lips. Zayn shakes his head and takes a sip from his glass, looking at the paused film on the laptop screen.

“Couldn't say, but less than you which is both ridiculous and unfair,” he turns back to Harry with an exaggeratedly sour look on his face, and Harry laughs, making Zayn smile lazily. “This is nice though,” he says, looking down at the Champagne and taking another sip, glancing up at Harry as he drinks. Harry snorts loudly and Zayn moves the glass away from his face quickly so as not to spill any liquid on the sheets from his own laugh.

“Cheers,” Harry grins, clinking their glasses together.

The romantic comedy playing on Zayn's laptop is over in what feels like a flash to Harry, and the contents of the Champagne bottle along with it. Somehow the two of them find themselves on the floor in front of the bed, both sitting cross-legged facing each other and playing a random round of Go Fish with some playing cards that Zayn had found while rummaging through Harry's suitcase to look for a new shirt after ultimately having spilled Champagne down his top. It was Harry's fault really for making Zayn laugh with his stupid comments during the movie, but Harry had just laughed heartily as Zayn dribbled Champagne all over himself, giggling through an offer for him to borrow something else to wear.

He's now wearing a plain black t-shirt with the Beatles logo on it, that they'd had a small dispute about who it actually belonged to when he'd fished it out of Harry's stuff. After having put it on Zayn had had to admit defeat as it was clearly a smidgen of a size too big for him and he'd given Harry a smooch on the cheek to apologise, making Harry's face heat up a tiny bit, luckily as Zayn turned away to take a trip to the bathroom.

“Give me your eights,” Harry says with complete confidence, looking up from his cards and at Zayn looking down at his.

Zayn shakes his head with raised eyebrows. “Go fish, mate.” He rearranges his cards in his hands as Harry sighs exaggeratedly and reaches for the mess of the rest of the deck on the floor in front of them.

“I still think you're lying. You have my eights.” Harry mutters, grabbing a four from the pile of cards and rolling his eyes. Zayn huffs.

“I'm not lying, you're just a sore loser,” he says with a small smirk on his face, still looking at his cards. Harry narrows his eyes at him. “Since when am I losing? We're not finished yet,” he furrows his brows at Zayn, watching his long lashes blink against the tops of his cheeks as he keeps his face tilted down. His cheeks are tinted a subtle shade of pink from the Champagne, and Harry finds his gaze resting on the sight for a while longer than necessary.

“Since you keep asking for your bloody eights when I said I haven't got them three times already,” he looks up and Harry is shaken from his sudden stare. They look at each other for a moment before Harry huffs out a sulking breath and focuses on his cards again. He burps loudly and Zayn giggles, making Harry look up and smile. His brain can't keep up with his mouth and his next words are out in the air between them before he can even notice himself saying them.

“So, since you don't want to give me your eights,” he interrupts Zayn who is just about to ask for Harry's cards, looking at him expectantly before rolling his eyes at Harry's words. “Can I ask you a question.” It sounds like a statement more than a question and Zayn chuckles.

“Yeah why not. I'm feeling nice tonight,” he says, moving to sit with his back against the bed, keeping his cards turned away from Harry.

Harry frowns. “You're always nice,” he says like Zayn is being silly, which he is, and Zayn gives him a warm smile. “Anyway,” he clears his throat, trying to act casual even through his slightly foggy and annoyingly honest mind. “That guy that you kissed that one time.” Zayn raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Who was he?”

Zayn looks at him with that same expression on his face for a moment, caught seemingly off guard, and Harry keeps his eyes on him, not wanting to let the moment fall into something where Zayn can brush the question off or think that Harry is kidding or taking the mick.

“Uh,” Zayn starts, seeming more stunned by the random question than anything else. He looks back at his cards for a bit to collect his thoughts, Harry guesses, before continuing. “He was just... this guy from school. Why?”

Harry shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Why the sudden interest though?” Zayn looks mildly confused, but not at all upset, and Harry shifts where he sits, still in the same cross-legged position by the scattered deck of cards.

“I don't know,” his mind is going on autopilot and a small distant voice in the back of his head is yelling at him to shut the fuck up. “I've been thinking about it, I guess.”

Zayn studies him for a second, still with a tinge of confusion in the slight crease between his eyebrows, but Harry keeps his cool.

“He was just a guy in my year,” Zayn shrugs finally, face sinking into a casual expression and Harry thanks the heavens for not drinking the whole bottle by himself. He moves to sit beside Zayn and Zayn shifts to sit with an elbow resting on the bed and his legs folded to the side to keep Harry from getting a glimpse of his cards, making Harry roll his eyes before nodding at him to continue.

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn keeps going with the hint of a laugh in his voice because of Harry's actions and Harry smiles. “He was like a friend of a friend, and there was alcohol involved, of course,” he gives a little chuckle and Harry frowns slightly.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, feeling a twinge of discomfort and sudden disappointment in his tummy.

“No,” Zayn says immediately, without any hesitation. “S'just, I don't think I would have been brave enough to do it, if I hadn't been a bit drunk for it,” he shrugs a shoulder and looks up at Harry with a small smile.

Harry nods in understanding. “Did you like, date? You and him?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, and Harry can't help the weird feeling of relief that floats through his body. It's weird because he doesn't know what exactly he's feeling relieved _for_ , and he doesn't bother to figure it out, focusing intently on Zayn's response.

“Nah, nothing like that,” he looks down at his cards, rearranging them again, more distractedly this time than before. “But we did see each other a couple times after school after that, and like, had a snog behind the gymnasium,” he laughs again. “Very cliché but there you have it.”

Harry has moved to mirror Zayn's position and he nods, trying not to look too intense in his stare that he can feel get more and more focused on Zayn's face as he's talking.

“But you liked it,” Harry says, stating the obvious, but Zayn humours him.

“Mhm,” he hums back, looking up at Harry, waiting for the next question that is already hanging in the air.

“Have you kissed anyone since then? Like, a boy,” Harry adds to make sure Zayn knows exactly what he means. Zayn smiles, probably at Harry's way with his words more than at what he's actually saying. That much becomes apparent when the words seem to sink in and the smile drops quietly, and he bites his lip, and Harry very pointedly keeps his gaze on Zayn's eyes.

“Nope, not since then.” Zayn says, looking firmly back at Harry.

“Why?” Harry holds his breath.

Zayn clears his throat fleetingly, the alcohol luckily having made him even more relaxed than usual, and he scoots down a bit to rest his head and the back of his neck against the edge of the bed.

“Dunno.” He shrugs casually, glancing lazily back at his cards. “Haven't got the chance to, I guess,” he says, almost more to himself now than to Harry, who keeps quiet, wanting Zayn to keep going.

“I don't know, it's not really crossed my mind to be honest.” Zayn frowns a bit, thumbing over his playing cards. “I feel like,” he pauses, and Harry waits. “Maybe it's just something that happens just once in a while? Like, 'cause it's not like I've been like yearning for it or anything, to kiss a man. Or maybe I just haven't found one that I've wanted to kiss.” he finishes it off with a humourless tight-lipped twist to his lips. “That would make more sense, I guess, but. I don't know. I'll tell you when it happens, mate.” he chuckles jokingly, looking up at Harry again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Zayn's eyes widen considerably, and Harry forces down a swallow, his heart beating violently in his chest within the blink of an eye, that voice inside his head falling silent, his eyes firmly on Zayn's.

“What?” Zayn asks dumbly, looking like a deer in the headlights, and almost as if he's waiting for Harry to correct himself.

“Can I kiss you, Zayn?” Harry's gotten this far, there's no backing down. Even if he could, he doesn't want to. He wants to kiss Zayn. He knows that for sure now, and he feels like he's known it for a while, now that he's sitting close to him, their faces separated by barely a meter's distance. Zayn's lips are slightly parted and Harry allows himself a quick glance downwards at them, before looking back up at Zayn's startled face. His brows slowly start to furrow and an amused smile falls across his face.

“I think you've had too much to drink, mate, fucking lightweight,” he laughs, but something in it sounds unsure and Harry picks up on it immediately.

“I'm not a lightweight,” he has to say first, and Zayn gives him an unimpressed look. “I'm not! And that's not it anyway. I mean it,” he says, sounding as serious as he possibly can, his tone making Zayn look up at him again, this time with less scepticism and more disbelief.

“Can I?” Harry's voice is soft but steady, and he braces himself for Zayn's answer.

Zayn's eyebrows are drawn together and he shakes his head slightly. “Why would- why?”

All Harry can see on his face is shock and confusion at this point but he pushes through.

“Why not?”

Zayn lets an involuntary laugh slip from his lips, looking at Harry like he's being silly.

“Why wouldn't I want to?” Harry says, because it's really that simple. Why would anyone not want to kiss Zayn?

“See? You can't answer that, can you?” Harry goes on after Zayn has been looking at him with that same expression of disbelief on his face, his competitive side randomly coming out of nowhere, but it breaks the tension slightly and Zayn finds his bearings, huffing at Harry's words.

“You- you're ridiculous,” he settles for, shaking his head and looking back at his cards.

“So, can I?” Harry asks for the third time, not about to give up anytime soon.

“No,” Zayn says calmly, a sense of finality to his voice, but Harry can see a smile twitch in the corner of his mouth and he tries a different approach.

“Why?” he whines. “It's the least you can do for lying to me.”

Zayn frowns wildly and looks back up at him. “What?”

“My eights!”

Zayn rolls his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. “I don't have them!”

“Let me see then,” Harry extends his hands for Zayn's cards, but Zayn pulls them against his chest quickly.

“No,” he says scrunching up his face. “ _That's_ cheating.” in turn making Harry roll his own eyes.

“We're not playing anymore, show me,” he goes to grab Zayn's cards but he lifts them over his head instead.

“No! Let me see _your_ cards,” he says instead, a grin starting to form on his face and Harry needs to push his own smile away.

“No way, I know what you're planning, Malik,” and before he knows it he's pushed Zayn onto the floor, reaching for his cards as Zayn yells at him to stop, trying his best to keep them as far away from Harry as he can. Before Harry can get to them Zayn chucks his cards onto the floor away from the bed and Harry gasps exaggeratedly. They lock eyes for a second, before simultaneously looking over at Harry's cards laying abandoned on the floor and throw themselves at them at the same time.

Somewhere along the way the cards are forgotten and Zayn winds up on top of Harry, his hands in Harry's grasp as they struggle to get loose, the two of them laughing with flushed faces, before Zayn manages to throw a leg over Harry's waist, capturing him between his thighs and rising up slightly, making Harry have to stretch out his hands that are still holding onto Zayn's as Zayn moves them closer to his chest.

“Stop it!” Zayn pants out, eyes wide and firm on Harry's to try and gain some sort of authority, but Harry just laughs and they struggle for a moment more until he loosens his grip on Zayn's closed fists, but instead of them parting, their fingers intertwine almost by their own accord, and Zayn grins down at Harry, both of them still breathing quite heavily. The flush on Zayn's cheeks is still there, now both from the alcohol and the fight and Harry finds himself staring again. Zayn's smile shrinks into something more fond and he leans back to rest against Harry bare legs that are bent behind him, letting out a large breath to calm himself down, but Harry uses his hold on Zayn's hands to pull him forward again, back towards him, and Zayn goes, a look of mild surprise on his face, a silent question in his eyes.

Harry feels his pulse quicken again after having started to slow down after the wrestling match, and he wills his breathing to keep moving at a calm pace, even though he feels like he might need to take double the breaths to control his beating heart. He strokes his thumbs gently over the skin on Zayn's hands that he can reach.

“Kiss me,” he says, and Zayn's face falls into a look of gentle defeat and realisation. He shakes his head, but doesn't move to get off Harry.

“Kiss me.” Harry can feel his palms start to sweat, but he doesn't look away, not even for a moment.

A silence falls over them, Harry waiting with his heart thumping in his throat. Zayn's face is unreadable as he stays put, but he doesn't look upset, just resigned and calm, and before Harry knows it he's leaned down, putting his weight slightly on Harry's hands to hold himself up over him, and pressing his lips against Harry's.

The kiss is firm, but so very gentle, and Zayn's lips are softer than anything Harry has ever felt before. He manages to get enough brainpower to close his eyes before it's over and Zayn is moving back up again. Harry knows that he must be breathing because he can feel his chest move up and down, but all he can focus on is Zayn looking down at him.

“Happy now? That what you wanted?” He must be going for a reprimanding tone, but all that is on Zayn's face is fondness and warmth. Harry nods. Zayn smiles.

“Brat.” Harry squawks.

“Hey,” Somehow he's managed to sink down from the cloud he must have floated up to for the past minutes. He feels shaky all over, but his mind is clear enough to work properly, and he reacts accordingly to Zayn's words. Zayn snorts and grins down at him before moving to stand up, his hands still locked with Harry's, using them to pull him to his feet, a lot stronger than he probably should be with how many glasses of Champagne that he's had.

Harry goes easily, and as soon as he's on his feet, he magically feels the world come back to life again, after having suddenly stopped as soon as Zayn's mouth touched his. It's a strange feeling, but Harry chooses to go with it, and be grateful for it all, because Zayn is still standing in front of him and they're not kissing anymore, and Harry needs to focus.

“Let's get you into bed, Casanova, I can already feel a headache coming on,” he mumbles tiredly before moving in to kiss Harry on the cheek, and going to fetch his things from the bed.

“Ten o'clock tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn asks, his question followed by a sulking frown as he remembers the time they need to be up by the next day. He goes back to where Harry is standing and Harry musters up the ability to think in a normal pace.

“Yeah, ten,” he says. “I'll set the alarm.”

Zayn chuckles, and Harry would normally want to shake his head at himself but he can't be bothered to now. It's late and Zayn's smile is still as vibrant as it was five hours ago and he can't be bothered.

“Me too,” Zayn yawns widely. “You good?” he asks, hoisting his laptop further up underneath his arm.

Harry nods, smiling back at him and letting the tiredness fall into his bones like water soaking into a sponge. “Yeah, I'm good.”

He remembers Zayn leaving that night. He remembers saying goodbye to him at the door and forcing himself to close it behind him immediately instead of staying put and watching Zayn walk down the hallway to his own room. He remembers going to bed with butterflies the size of swallows fluttering their wings inside his stomach.

He remembers it all, as he lies on the hotel sheets the next morning, a whole hour before his alarm goes off, and completely awake, with a heart beating faster than he would have wished for, and what feels like a little hummingbird nestled deeply in his chest.

-

As much as he loves life on the road, and as much as touring is undoubtedly the best part of the job that he has the fortune of doing, seeing English soil for the first time in months always has the same effect on Harry.

It had been raining in London when they came home, and a big smile had burst onto Harry's face at the sight, Liam sighing in the seat next to him and the two of them locking gazes with the same tired and happy look in their eyes.

It's still raining now as he sits sideways in an armchair in Nick's flat, legs slung over the side and a bottle of Corona in his hands, and Harry lets his eyes drift away from the TV for a moment to look out at the grey sky, feeling more at ease than he has in weeks. It's been intense, travelling across America and then back again, and now that he's here, relaxed and able to sit in the same place for more than a couple of minutes, it feels like his body is experiencing the first calm moment of its existence.

Nick is laying on the sofa, half watching the telly while scrolling through his phone, the room filled with a nice silence, apart from the low volume of the TV and the pattering of the rain on the windows. Harry almost feels guilty for breaking it.

“Nick?”

Nick hums in response, his eyes not leaving his phone.

Harry waits for a second, still looking out of the window.

“Have you ever... wanted to do something so bad, that even though you know for sure that you shouldn't do it. Even though you know that... doing what you want might end up hurting someone in the end. You just can't- I can't...” Harry sighs heavily. He looks down at the bottle in his hand before turning his head to see Nick watching him with a confused and slightly worried face. Harry breathes out a laugh, devoid of any true emotion. “Nevermind.”

“No, tell me,” Nick says gently. “What is it that you... want to do? What's up?”

Harry sighs again, shifting his gaze to the floor.

“It's silly. Really.” he starts, and a silence follows, Nick paitently waiting for him to continue. “It's just, uhm. I've been thinking about wanting to do something for a long time. With someone,” Harry looks back at Nick, trying to gauge his reaction, but he just nods. “And...”

He shakes his head suddenly. “It's whatever. Doesn't matter. It'll be fine.” He says it just as much to Nick as he does to himself, he realises, and gives a small smile to Nick who's still just looking at him with a slight furrow to his brows.

Any other time Harry would expect Nick to press on further, to ask what the hell he's going on about, and who the person is that he has in mind. But Nick doesn't ask anything like that, just nods slowly, a hint of what Harry could almost guess to be realisation falling on his face.

“Alright,” he says. “Well, if you ever wanna... elaborate on that, I'm here for you,” his tone turns up, almost like a question, and Harry nods. He does know, and he appreciates it more than Nick probably knows. “Just be careful. Yeah?”

It's a weird thing to say, Harry thinks. But at the same time, he gets it, whatever it is, and he nods again, before reaching for the remote and turning the volume up a bit, tuning out the rain on the windows and the thoughts in his head and taking a sip of his lukewarm Corona.

-

Harry can sense from the moment they step off stage that Zayn is about to go into a funk.

He could see it directly after they'd all sung their final notes, the crowd screaming mercilessly for more as the five of them were lowered down through the holes in the stage floor, and as they're now walking sweaty towards the dressing rooms, Zayn is uncharacteristically quiet, and Harry walks up behind him, sticking his fingers into his sides and watching him jump in surprise. Zayn rolls his eyes but there's a smile there, like he can't resist. He was never very good at hiding his feelings, whenever something was getting him down, and Harry prides himself on the way he can still manage to pull a smile out of him, even when he's feeling low and about to fall into a slight downwards spiral. He does that sometimes, and Harry always tries his best to notice it, so he can quickly do a silly dance or pull Zayn into a weird activity to distract him from himself. It's exactly what he's about to do now, as he comes up to walk next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder and holding him back just a bit, letting the others walk ahead.

They fall into a stroll, Harry making sure that no one is waiting for them, knowing that they have to be out by the car as soon as possible, before he leans in to smack a wet kiss to Zayn's cheek as they walk. He groans and moves his head down to wipe his face on Harry's shoulder, making Harry laugh, but Zayn doesn't break away from the hold Harry has on him.

“You alright?” Harry asks him, not trying to get too serious when they don't have the time to have a proper deep conversation, but it's enough for him to be able to check in quickly, and Zayn immediately senses the lingering meaning behind the simple words.

He gives a sigh, not even trying to cover up his foul mood, and Harry gives his shoulders a gentle shake with the arm he has around him.

“You wanna stay in tonight? Have a cuddle, yeah?” Zayn scrunches his face into a frown and chuckles at Harry, and Harry smiles.

“Nah, you go out and explore, mate, I'll be fine,” he shrugs, trying for a smile that Harry sees through easily. He doesn't doubt that Zayn will be fine and can take care of himself enough to be left in peace, but he doesn't much like the idea of Zayn sitting on his own in his room, letting his thoughts be able to roam free and having a crap night while the rest of them go out partying.

Harry makes a disagreeing sound in the back of his throat. “Oh no, we're staying in, I've seen what I want already,” Zayn sighs and rolls his eyes, focusing on Harry as they walk through the long corridor.

“Harry,” he starts in an admonishing voice, but Harry doesn't budge.

“Zayn,” he mimics Zayn's tone and accent and Zayn glares at him half-heartedly. Zayn huffs out a breath, defeated sooner than Harry would have expected.

“Fine,” he says. “Have it your way. What else, right?” he adds teasingly, rolling his eyes once more. Harry just grins widely and leans in to give Zayn another obnoxiously loud kiss on the cheek, this time making Zayn break free from his grip.

“Would you-” Zayn gets out, moving a hand up to push Harry's face away. Harry dodges his next attack of a hand to the crotch before swiftly moving in to get Zayn in the same area, but the other boy is too fast and all he hears is a giggle before Zayn is sprinting away down the corridor, leaving Harry with no choice but to run after him, a big smile permanently etched on his face.

 

 

It's after Zayn huffs for the fourth time that Harry grabs the remote control to the hotel TV and mutes the Italian cooking show that they've been watching for the past ten minutes after Zayn just shrugged his shoulders when Harry asked him what he wanted to see. He drops it on the bed by his side and turns to look at Zayn who is laying with his head propped up by three pillows, his eyes drifting from the TV to Harry in question.

“What?”

“What?” Harry says back, and Zayn sighs.

“Can you unmute it?” he turns his head fully towards Harry, leaning his temple against the headboard and his voice sounds so small that Harry has to stop himself from pulling him into his side and giving him the cuddle he had promised earlier. Instead he just shuffles a bit closer, pulling the duvet that they're sharing higher up on their bodies.

“What is it?”

Zayn looks down the bed at the TV playing silently and Harry refrains from moving a hand up to stroke his flattened hair off of his forehead.

“I'm just homesick, I guess,” Zayn mumbles quietly, and Harry can't help but pout slightly, again wanting to hug him close and maybe kiss his face a little bit. He swallows and pushes the sudden uninvited thought from his head. “I don't know,” Zayn continues, and Harry keeps silent. “I'm just thinking too much.”

Harry waits a moment to see if Zayn is going to say anything else, before he speaks, letting Zayn know what he knows he already does.

“You know you can tell me if anything is bothering you?” his voice is soft and gentle, and Zayn bites his lip, still looking at the foot of the bed. “Anything.”

Zayn nods, moving in to rest his head on Harry's shoulder, his hair brushing up against Harry's face and making him unable to smell anything but Zayn.

“I know.”

Harry nods. His mind drifts into nothingness for a second and he turns his face to nose into Zayn's hair, gently breathing in the scent of his shampoo. It takes all of his strength not to flinch at himself as he realises what he's doing. It's nothing new exactly, they've always been very handsy and close with each other physically, all five of them, but somehow this feels a lot more intimate, and while Harry knows that he shouldn't actually feel guilty or weird for a small - really miniscule - action such as this, he still does. He turns his face up and looks out of the dark window to distract himself. Zayn hasn't moved an inch, not seeming to having noticed the change in Harry's mood at all, and Harry relaxes slightly.

They've only got one of the lamps on the nightstands lit up, and the room would be flooded with darkness if it weren't for the TV, and the lights of the city outside. Harry had definitely lied before when he said he'd seen all that he wanted. That's really never the case, but he'll deal with it if he has to. It's not like they have a choice anyway. And staying in with Zayn like today is probably the furthest thing from a downgrade he could ever have on a night like this. But still. He wouldn't mind going outside for just a bit, even to just get a lungful of the air. And Zayn could use the distraction, he thinks, as he looks back down at his face as well as he can without getting a mouthful of dark hair.

“Let's go out,” he says quietly into his ear.

“Hm?” Zayn responds with, not moving his head from Harry's shoulder.

“Let's go out for a bit,” Harry repeats in a more normal tone, gently moving his shoulder up and down to make Zayn look up at him. Zayn moves away to face Harry properly, a small questioning frown on his face.

“What, now?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, the idea sounding more and more perfect the longer he thinks about it. He swiftly gets off the bed, filled with newfound energy, and looks back at Zayn who has curled up at the loss of Harry's warmth. He scrunches up his face slightly at Harry's waiting face.

“I don't really feel like going clubbing tonight, but you go though. I'm sure you can catch up to the others,” he says, glancing at the clock on the TV, showing that it's still only just past eleven. Harry shakes his head firmly.

“We're not going clubbing, we're going out,” Zayn looks at him hesitantly, probably wondering where this random idea even came from, but Harry goes on. “Come on, get your clothes on and we'll go, we need to get you out of your head for a bit, and we can't do that in here.”

Zayn looks to be resisting an eye-roll, but Harry pulls the duvet from his body before he can surrender to it and Zayn reluctantly gets into a sitting position. He's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants (Harry still not understanding how he isn't overheating) and Harry walks over to Zayn's suitcase to grab a pair of jeans, throwing them onto Zayn's lap, who flinches away slightly, mustering a glare at Harry's smiling face.

“Meet you in the hallway in five, yeah?” Harry says and gets a grunting, petulant sigh in reply before he leaves to go get changed in his own room.

He knocks on Zayn's door three minutes later and waits another moment for Zayn to open and step out, now in jeans and a beanie along with his hoodie. Harry's wearing a beanie himself, the only bit of disguise he can be arsed with, and he pushes a bit of his fringe under it as Zayn pulls the door closed behind himself.

“Paul is gonna kill you,” he mumbles and Harry smiles widely. “And I say 'you', because I'm gonna claim this as kidnapping once he finds out.” Harry laughs and nods his head towards the lifts, Zayn following after him as he goes.

“How are we even supposed to get out?” Zayn asks, not sounding massively convinced of this whole thing, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Are you gonna stop crying?” He gets a punch in the arm. “Don't worry,” he laughs, rubbing his arm as Zayn glares at him with a smile in his eyes. “I'll sort it out.”

The ride down to the lobby is a slow one, and Harry leans against the wall of the lift, watching Zayn try and make his beanie sit nicely on his head, moving it about and sticking his hair back under the fabric.

“We're not going to a fucking wedding, babe, you look fine,” Harry drawls and Zayn glances at him through the mirror, making Harry grin back at him. Zayn turns around, leaning on the other side of the lift and sticking his tongue out at Harry, making him snort and shake his head. “You're such a child.” Zayn just smirks and keeps his eyes on Harry. They stand just looking at each other for a moment, Harry almost starting to feel like he's missing something, Zayn's stare seeming to see right through him, before Zayn randomly pulls a stupid face and Harry breaks out into a laugh, throwing his head back slightly. Zayn grins and Harry collects himself, making an even sillier one back and they spend the rest of the ride down trying to see who can pull the ugliest face.

As they step out into the lobby Harry goes straight to the reception desk, making sure he's out of sight from the entrance just in case any extremely dedicated fans are out there looking in, and asks for the way to the back entrance. They get one of the staff members to show them out and Harry and Zayn thank them politely as they hold the door open and closes it behind the two of them.

“Come on,” Harry says, a smile on his face already at the sounds and scents of the night, grabbing Zayn's arm and pulling him along. They go into the nearby multi-storey car park connected to the hotel, walking through it and jumping down over the edge of the first floor, out onto the street below.

Zayn sits down on the edge instead of jumping recklessly like Harry, and drops himself down the few feet gently, Harry waiting for him on the pavement.

“How the hell are we supposed to get back?” Zayn says to himself, looking up at where they came from, but there's a smile on his face as he turns back to Harry, who can't seem to wipe the grin off his own.

“Come on then, let's take a walk.”

Verona is beautiful at night, the city lit up by a billion lights it seems, making it sligthly harder for Harry and Zayn to keep to the shadows, but luckily, there's not too many people out, and the people that are out are in their own little worlds, drunk or taking a stroll over the cobbled streets, just like the two boys in beanies. After a while they stop caring, and walk in the middle of the small roads lined by stone buildings, bathing in the yellow light of the streetlamps. They walk peacefully together, pointing out things they're seeing and laughing together at silly comments and jokes, the fresh air and slight chill of the night having brightened up both of their moods significantly, just like Harry suspected it would.

He falls back half a step, glancing at Zayn walking slightly ahead of him, looking at all of the buildings, the closed shops and the restaurants and clubs still open, watching the people as they walk by, his face completely open and unguarded, looking like he'd soak it all up and put it in a glass bottle to keep if he could. Harry would too, this moment right now, walking with Zayn through the streets of Verona. He'd bottle it and put it in his suitcase, so he could take it out and look at it whenever he felt like it. It feels like home somehow. It doesn't make even a smidgen of sense, but walking with Zayn through this completely unfamiliar city feels like going to bed in his mum's house in Cheshire, and Harry finds himself staring at Zayn, whose eyes are big and vibrant as they focus on something in the distance.

“Let's go there,” he says, pointing at a bridge further away, as Harry tears his gaze away to look. They're approaching the water, he hadn't even noticed until now, and he nods as Zayn looks back at him with a hopeful and excited look in his eyes, leaving Harry with nothing to do but smile and follow after him as he picks up his pace, heading for the stone bridge.

It's well into May, but there's a slight chill to the air, even more so without the shield of the buildings and Zayn pulls his sleeves over his hands as they come to stand by the low wall of the bridge, looking out at the water and the city lights reflecting on its surface. He rests his hands on the stone and takes a deep breath in, Harry watching him as he stands by his side.

“It's stunning,” Zayn says, his voice quiet, travelling through the light breeze to reach Harry's ears. Zayn's eyes are still on the view before them and Harry swallows, watching his face as Zayn tries to take in everything that his gaze can reach. Harry lets out a soft breath, forcing himself to face away and join Zayn in enjoying the beautiful sight of Verona at night.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. He glances back at Zayn who doesn't say anything, letting the two of them stand in a comfortable silence, listening to the distant noises of the city, the rippling of the water and the gentle wind brushing over their necks.

“I can still barely believe it sometimes,” Zayn says, his eyes still facing the length of the river. Harry waits for him to continue. “Where we are, wherever we are. All of it.”

Something in Zayn's voice sounds different, and Harry can't pinpoint it. It's not the usual tone of amazement at everything they've done so far, and an uneasy feeling creeps onto him as he looks at Zayn's profile.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm just not enough,” it slips out of Zayn so easily, and Harry feels himself frown slowly, his eyes flitting over Zayn's face. “It's all so much, and I'm just not enough.”

His voice has grown almost weary and he lets out a heavy breath, as if just saying those few words has taken everything out of him. Harry's frown grows deeper, his eyes fixed with worry on Zayn's face.

“What do you mean?” He can easily hear the concern in his own voice. He doesn't get it. At least, he doesn't think he does.

Zayn just shakes his head, a small movement that Harry might have missed if all of his focus had not been on Zayn, letting everything else fall into shadows.

“Hey,” he says, almost in a whisper, somehow having moved closer to Zayn somewhere along the time they've been stood there together. He puts his hand on Zayn's where it lays on the bridge's edge. Zayn turns to him. The side of his face is illuminated with a warm orange light, and Harry can see the river in his eyes. There's something infinitely hopeless nestled in the depths of them, and a piece of Harry's heart breaks at the sight, but he keeps his eyes firmly on Zayn's. He doesn't understand, but he knows it's not true, what Zayn is saying. None of it.

“You're enough.” He just says, squeezing Zayn's hand and fixing his eyes on Zayn's, not letting him look away. “You're enough.”

Zayn's gaze shifts between Harry's eyes, unmoving in the intensity of the words behind them. Zayn smiles, and even through the dim light, Harry can see every single emotion. Fondness. Appreciation. Love. He tangles his fingers with Zayn's, their hands laying interlocked on the cold stone.

If Harry was braver, he would kiss him now. He'd pull Zayn into him and let their lips touch in the way that he's been craving since they seperated almost a year ago. If Harry was braver, he'd kiss him right here on this bridge, by the river, with the city watching over them.

But he's not. So he just smiles back, giving Zayn's hand another squeeze and nodding in question. Zayn nods back, looking down at their hands for a second, and then back up at Harry.

“You wanna head back?” Harry asks quietly, and Zayn nods one more time.

Their hands stay intertwined until they reach the bridge's edge, and Harry's palm feels cold when he lets Zayn go.

 

 

“Fuck, I need to wee,” Harry says as they try to find their way back to the hotel. Zayn huffs out a laugh, looking at the way Harry's steps get slightly quicker. The low mood from the bridge has faded away slowly but surely, Harry having done everything he could to make Zayn breathe lightly again, being extra talkative as they walked further back into the city. He stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets to warm them up a bit and gives Zayn a funny frown, only making him laugh again.

“You sure you know the way back, mate? Should we not just get a taxi?” Zayn says hesitantly, walking faster to keep up.

“I didn't bring any money,” Harry realises stupidly just after he's said it, and by the look on Zayn's face he does the same.

“Fair point,” he comments as they round a corner into a wide open square. The place is practically brimming with people, the two of them somehow having walked straight into the pulsing night life of the city, and they subconsciously close some distance in between them, walking together quickly, trying to pass through without drawing any attention to themselves.

They almost make it, until Harry does the stupid thing of looking up from the cobblestones and to his left at the sound of a random holler from outside one of the bars. Just as he's about to look away again he catches the gaze of one of the girls standing in a huddle just outside the entrance and on pure autopilot, he flashes a polite smile and a wave. Her eyes widen, recognition floating across her face in an instant and in an unsober manner of carelessness she gives a little shriek before quickly grabbing the arm of the friend standing closest. Harry's eyes go equally as wide once he's realised what he's done and he looks at Zayn who's rapidly been made aware of the situation, having heard the shriek of excitement.

His eyes are as big as Harry's must look, a sense of worry quickly falling across his face and Harry looks back at the girls, who have now all focused their attention on the two of them, both Harry and Zayn randomly having stopped in their tracks at the shock of the situation. Before Harry's brain can keep up with what's happening, he's running, grabbing Zayn's arm and pulling him along with him, Zayn immediately copying his actions.

“Come on!” Harry gets out, and they set off sprinting out of the square, the sound of girlish screams following them around the corner. They keep running, Harry a couple of steps in front of Zayn who's laughing now, and Harry grins, throwing a look back at Zayn's happy smile, making sure to check behind them for any of the girls who might have made an effort to follow. There's no one there, only people watching in confusion as they gallop through the streets, but they keep running and a cackle bursts out of Harry's mouth as he turns to look ahead of him. The lights and the people flash by in a blur, and all Harry can feel is the wind on his face, the ground beneath his feet and Zayn's hand coming up behind him to hold onto his jumper. He can hear Zayn's breathless giggles as they keep running, as if there are actual dogs biting at their heels and Harry doesn't think he's ever felt this free.

“Wait!” Zayn exclaims suddenly, Harry feeling his grip on him tightening and pulling back slightly and he slows down to look back. “The hotel is this way, come one,” Zayn says, jogging into a nearby street and Harry follows, the two of them finally coming to a stop at the same place where they jumped out of the car park hours ago.

“There might not be anyone left by the main entrance, they must've gone home by now?” Zayn says, his gaze travelling along the length of the building. Harry shakes his head.

“Not risking it, come here,” he says, still breathless from the manic sprint, a hand on Zayn's shoulder to turn him towards him. He links his own hands together and motions for Zayn to step in them to hoist himself up on the high ledge. Zayn sighs and shakes his head, still with a smile on his face and puts his foot in Harry's hold, one hand on the stone wall and one on his shoulder, and Harry uses all the strength he has to push him up towards the ledge. His force is more than enough and Zayn immediately finds himself sitting there with his legs dangling, quickly getting to his feet and reaching his hands down to Harry who stretches his arms up to grasp over the edge and jumps, Zayn grabbing a hold on the back of his jumper and pulling him up. Harry very ungracefully wriggles his way onto the first floor of the car park and Zayn giggles at him, Harry grinning himself and rolling to his back.

“I need to wee,” he whines, laying on the ground and panting tiredly. Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs onto his hands, yanking him upright and grabbing his arm.

“Big baby,” he laughs, and they head for the same door they excited through when they left. It's locked of course, and Harry doesn't hesitate to start banging on it to alert the attention of someone inside. Zayn laughs, trying to shush him at the same time. Harry stops and puts his ear against the door.

“Hello?” He says loudly, Zayn biting down on another laugh. “He- oh, shit,” Harry quickly flinches away from the door as it opens, just about avoiding getting smacked in the face and Zayn can't hold back his laughter anymore. A bemused member of the staff pokes his head out and Harry flashes a winning smile.

“Hi! Room 607?” Zayn snorts wildly.

The clock in the lobby says half past one as Harry rushes by it to go into the toilets, Zayn at his heels, still snickering to himself, Harry just making it worse as he turns back to shush him with a grin on his face.

He sighs loudly once he's relieved himself, stepping out of the small space and up to Zayn who's taken off his beanie and is half-heartedly fixing his hair again in the mirror. Harry washes his hands, yawning widely and laughing as Zayn unwillingly copies him. He splashes some water on him from the running tap and Zayn swears at him, pushing him roughly with a frowning grin, Harry trying to keep the noise of his laughter to a minimum. Before Zayn has the time to react, Harry has snatched his beanie from his hands and headed for the door in a flash.

“You're getting it wet!” he hears Zayn moan, but Harry just laughs and moves his hand out of reach once Zayn catches up to try and get his hat back. “Oh my god,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “You know what, fine,” he sighs, pushing Harry firmly ahead of him, not being able to force down his own laughter as Harry cackles in victory. Harry tucks Zayn's beanie in his back pocket and turns around, and Zayn doesn't even bother to snatch it from him.

Making their way to the lifts they just can't stop laughing. Harry reaches for the button once they're there and Zayn leans a shoulder against the wall by the doors, trying to calm down, biting his lip down on a grin. For whatever reason the both of them have gotten the late night giggles, bursting into snorts of laughter as soon as their eyes lock. A cleaner walks by behind them and Harry randomly makes eye-contact.

“Hi!” he says, giving them a wave and Zayn needs to hide his giggle in his hand, Harry flushing slightly red at his own antics but keeping his smile on his face until the politely nodding cleaner has gone past. He swiftly swats at Zayn's shoulder who can't seem to stop laughing, Harry joining him, feeling almost drunk as he foolishly leans back to rest against the lift doors, that slide open about two seconds later, and Zayn's hand automatically flies out to catch and steady him while he laughs widely at Harry's face, closing his eyes at the force of it.

Harry grips his chest from the sudden shock before rolling his eyes and giggling at Zayn who is almost hiccuping with the way his shoulders move up and down, and Harry grabs onto his shoulder to push him into the lift.

“Twat,” he mutters as Zayn leans his back on the wall facing the doors, trying to catch his breath.

“Your face,” is all Zayn can get out before he has to clutch his stomach, bending over slightly, Harry just grinning at him, his happy and scrunched up face turning pink from all the laughter.

“Shh!” Harry hushes him again, moving up a hand to push Zayn back against the wall. He goes easily, making a weird scratching noise in his throat as he tries to pull some air into his lungs and he falls into a sudden coughing fit, making Harry flinch back before snorting because he can't not. He moves a hand up to cup the back of Zayn's neck though, to ground him slightly and make him calm down and it must help because Zayn's coughing dies down, leaving him to draw in a proper breath, managing to fit in one last laugh at the end.

“Oh god,” he pants, his hand having moved up to clutch his chest rather than his stomach. “Did you press the button?” He wipes under his eyes with both hands and Harry can't hide a big grin. It's only occurred to him how close they're standing and Zayn needs to look him in the eyes as he swipes at his cheeks for Harry to make a move.

“Oh,” he goes to press on the right button for their floor and then moves to lean one shoulder on the wall by Zayn, who mirrors his position, the two of them facing each other. Sighing heavily Zayn uses his sleeves to rub at his eyes, and Harry smiles at the sight.

“Amazing,” Zayn says and Harry lets out a breath of a laugh into the air between them. Zayn clears his throat around a smile, his eyes resting on Harry's jumper. He leans his head to the side to rest against the wall, still with a small smirk on his face, and Harry watches him. The light in the lift is slightly dimmed and Zayn's eyelashes cast a shadow on his skin. Harry's own smile has faded and he finds himself staring anew. They're standing close together again and if he put his mind to it, Harry could probably just about count every single lash lining Zayn's eyes.

Not even Zayn moving his hand up to thumb at a hole in Harry's jumper makes him tear his gaze away. Zayn sighs quietly, adjusting his weight onto the wall and Harry lets his lips part slightly. He's transfixed, and he knows that he's staring but he can't look away. Zayn's fingers keep fiddling with Harry's jumper and before Harry knows it, his own hand is moving up to cover Zayn's. Zayn stops all movements, watching their hands for a second before lifting his lashes to look at Harry. The smiles are gone from both their lips, a small question in Zayn's eyes that Harry can't voice an answer to. Instead he rubs his thumb gently against the back of Zayn's hand still lingering by his ribs, pressing it slightly against his body before intertwining their fingers together, lowering their hands to hang in the space between them, that almost seems to have gotten even smaller. His thumb keeps rubbing over Zayn's skin, the only movement apart from Zayn's blinking eyes, still staring back at Harry, his face showing no sign of casualness, his stare more focused than Harry has seen it all night.

Harry can hear his own breathing getting heavier and more precise, like something in him is taking extra care to make sure that his lungs keep working because what he's about to do just might pull the plug on his entire being.

Zayn has just enough time to move his head up from where it's leaning against the wall of the lift before Harry's lips have reached his. In an instant, Zayn pulls his hand free from Harry's, moving it up to grab at the back of Harry's neck and pressing him closer to him, kissing him back with the same force that Harry immediately fell into as soon as he felt the touch of Zayn's lips against his. He can't think, about the movements of the lift or the sounds of the AC over their heads, not anything, but the feel of Zayn's lips, his smell and the way he is grasping at Harry, holding him still to make sure he won't pull away. And Harry doesn't, he wouldn't, ever. Instead he quickly reaches both hands to grab Zayn's waist, moving away from the wall and making Zayn step back against it, Harry's grip firm at his sides just as Zayn opens his mouth to suck Harry's bottom lip between his.

Harry makes a desperate noise against Zayn's mouth and Zayn moves his other hand up to cup the side of his face, before moving his chin down and separating them. Somewhere in the far back of his mind Harry can hear the ding of the lift doors open, but he pays it no attention, just about managing to hold himself back from surging in to capture Zayn's lips with his, breathing heavily and keeping his gaze on Zayn's mouth before him, but he doesn't have to because Zayn is already moving up to kiss him again, softer this time. It lingers for a moment before Zayn pulls back again, and Harry forces his gaze up to meet his eyes. They breathe in pace with each other, Zayn's eyes wide as they look into Harry's, his mouth open and his hands still in the same place at Harry's neck and face.

Zayn reaches down to grab Harry's hand, keeping his eyes fixed on his before moving out of the lift, pulling a dazed Harry along behind him. They walk in silence down the corridor, hands interlocked with each other, and Harry's eyes not seeing anything but the back of Zayn's neck.

Zayn stops by what Harry assumes is his hotel room, not bothering to turn back to look at Harry as he reaches with his free hand to pull his keycard out of his back pocket. He unlocks and opens the door, then lets go of Harry's hand to step inside, turning to face Harry, standing on the other side of the threshold. There's a silent question in Zayn's eyes, one that Harry can't entirely read, but it doesn't matter, because he's inside the room before he can bother to try and decipher it, Zayn taking a step back as Harry blindly closes the door behind himself.

There can't be more than a couple of seconds' pause before their lips are on each other again, this time with an added sense of desperation emanating from the both of them. Their movements are frantic, as Zayn pulls Harry's beanie off his head and drops it to the floor, his fingers tangling in the curls at first opportunity, Harry trying to force his knees to keep steady as their tongues touch for the very first time. He has snogged his fair share of people before, but feeling Zayn's soft wet tongue against his, feeling the heat of his mouth up close, it's electric, and Harry can't get enough.

The lamps are all still off in the hotel room, the only source of light being the ones from the city outside, but Harry couldn't care the less because Zayn has started to walk backwards, pulling Harry with him and Harry doesn't need to see to know where they're heading. He really doesn't think he needs to see anything else ever again, so long as he has Zayn's hands grasping his neck to guide him, he'll happily keep his eyes closed forever.

They come to a sudden stop as Zayn's legs hit the edge of the bed. Separating, they both take the breaths of air that they've been neglecting in favour of tasting each other's mouth and they pant into the space between them for a second. Harry's eyes search all over Zayn's face, for whatever signs he can find. His brain is still not working completely normally, everything just a tiny bit fuzzy from the way he can see Zayn bite down on his own bottom lip, but a little part inside his head is worrying about the magnitude of the situation, and how Zayn just might have been acting out of pure recklessness. Harry had been too, but he can't avoid the thought anymore, the realisation of how long he's been wanting this to happen, and he swallows, waiting and wishing that something won't click in Zayn's head all of a sudden, and make him catch up with what is happening and how it might not be what he wants.

“Yeah?” he dares let out into the sudden silence, still breathless from the kisses, his heart in his throat and his hands grasping firmly at Zayn's sides.

Zayn is breathing heavily still, and he lets his lip fall from between his teeth as he looks up into Harry's eyes finally.

“Yes,” he says, and Harry doesn't need to hear anything else.

He finds himself on top of Zayn in a matter of seconds, both of them still fully clothed on the bed, their lips locked with each other once more. Their touches are desperate and both of their tops are off before Harry can fully process what is happening. His lips quickly trail from Zayn's mouth down his neck, sucking and nibbling on the smooth skin, and letting his hands roam over every single part of Zayn's body that he can reach. Zayn is breathing heavily in his ear, and as his hands fly down to fumble at the front of Harry's jeans, Harry can't help the groan that he muffles against Zayn's throat. Something sounding like a chuckle escapes Zayn's lips and Harry rises up to catch a glimpse of his face in the darkness of the room. Zayn is smiling up at him, his hands undoing Harry's belt and Harry grins back just in time for Zayn to surge up to kiss him again.

Harry helps Zayn get his jeans open and they both push the fabric down right along with his boxers, Harry trying to be rid of the clothes as quickly as possible so he can get back to touching Zayn. The jeans are pushed over the edge of the bed and Harry is immediately going for the last remaining pieces of clothing on Zayn's body, getting Zayn's help and pulling his black jeans off along with his underwear and socks. No time is taken to look any closer at each other before Harry is on Zayn again, the feeling of their completely naked bodies pressing against each other enough for Harry to moan against Zayn's mouth. He can feel Zayn's hardness pressing against the lower part of his tummy and goosebumps rise on every single part of him. Zayn lifts a leg to wrap around Harry's back and Harry grabs his thigh, pulling him even closer against him. He wants to be wrapped in Zayn's warmth, he wants to be swallowed whole and he never wants the feeling of Zayn's hot skin against his to go away.

He's reaching down between them for Zayn's hard cock without even having a chance to think about it and Zayn sighs heavily into Harry's mouth as he wraps his hand around him. He can feel his own cock dripping against his hand, and he quickly swipes his fingers on his tip, shuddering at the feeling, before using his now slightly lubed up hand to stroke Zayn firmly. Zayn lets out a moan and Harry pulls back to look down at him, feeling dizzy with the knowledge that it's him who is doing this to Zayn. Fluttering his eyes open, Zayn catches his gaze and Harry starts moving his hips down against his, rubbing himself against the crease where Zayn's thigh meets his hip.

“Yeah?” he pants again, not even trying to say anything more descriptive because the look of pleasure in Zayn's eyes is enough to make half of Harry's brain cells fall into complete uselessness.

Zayn nods breathlessly and pulls Harry back down with a hand in his hair to join their lips together. He hums against his mouth and Harry can't help but bite down on Zayn's bottom lip, that full, plump lip that has been quietly taunting him for so long. It draws another moan out of Zayn and he all of a sudden lifts the hand that's been on Harry's back to push at his shoulder, making him roll over to lay against the sheets. Harry doesn't let Zayn go for even a second and Zayn is now on top of him, his knees bracketing Harry's hips. On pure instinct Harry's hands fall to grasp at Zayn's hips and Zayn rises up to put his palms flat on Harry's chest and as he starts to roughly roll his hips down against Harry's naked crotch, letting their cocks slide wetly together, Harry's eyes roll back into his head.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, forcing his eyes open to look down at where Zayn is grinding down on him, his hips moving in ways that Harry could never even have imagined in his wildest fantasies, the ones that he has yet to even let himself think about. He uses the grip on Zayn's hips to force him down even harder and they both moan in unison at the friction. Harry lets his hands roam up Zayn's outstretched arms, pulling him down towards him as he reaches the back of his neck, and Zayn goes all too willingly.

Blindly, Harry reaches down between their bodies again to grasp both of them in one hand. They're both dripping, making it so easy for him to quickly start moving his hand up and down, not being able to resist the chase of release anymore. Zayn is still moving his hips against Harry, like he really can't stop himself and he moves up to look down at where Harry's hand is moving faster and firmer around them. He bites down on his lip and closes his eyes, whining at the feeling of getting closer and closer to bursting and Harry moves his other hand up to make Zayn face him again, a hand tangling in his soft hair and pulling him down to muffle their moans. A couple of more strokes is all it takes before Harry can feel Zayn shuddering against him, the sensation of him coming in his hand enough for Harry to fall over the edge along with him and he wraps an arm around Zayn's neck to swallow his own helpless moan in a sloppy kiss.

Harry's hand slows down its movement gradually, and their kissing turns into breathing into each other's mouths, gently pressing their lips together between trying to come down from the high of their orgasms. Moving down, Harry cups a sticky palm around Zayn's balls, and Zayn lets out a shaky gasp, biting his lip and following the movement with his eyes. Harry rolls them around in his hand for a moment, just revelling in the feeling of being able to touch Zayn like this, and Zayn lets him, before Harry's hand goes to grip his hip again, his other one that is still dry coming up to rest behind Zayn's neck and pulling him in for a proper kiss. It's slow and calm in a way that none of the ones before have been, and Harry closes his eyes to enjoy every languid touch and every sound Zayn makes.

They pull apart and Zayn rests his forehead against Harry's, their breathing having slowed down considerably, and he rests like that for a minute, before kissing Harry's cheek gently and getting off of him and the bed. Harry follows his every movement as he walks to the bathroom, watching the light flicker on and waiting for Zayn to come back. He emerges from the room not a minute later, a towel in his hand and his stomach clean of any mess, going to wipe at the stickiness on Harry's. Harry smiles, catching Zayn's eyes, and Zayn mirrors his expression, throwing the towel onto the floor once Harry is clean and getting back into bed to lay beside him.

They don't say anything. Harry moves to lay on his side, facing Zayn who is in the same position. None of them say a thing, just looking at each other and breathing slowly, the only sounds being heard in the room. Zayn is laying facing the window, and Harry watches the way the streetlights make his eyes glisten in the darkness. Zayn studies him closely, but for some reason Harry doesn't feel that same worry anymore. Looking into Zayn's eyes, he doesn't feel anything but a strong sense of calmness and tranquility. A gentle smile falls onto Zayn's lips and Harry feels the corners of his own turn up just at the sight of it. Suddenly, Zayn turns to face away from Harry, and before Harry can determine his next move he has reached an arm back to pull Harry's over his waist. Harry goes easily, pressing firmly up against Zayn's back, not an inch of space in between them. The feeling of Zayn so close and bare against him still makes the hairs on his body stand on end, but a wave of fatigue has enveloped him in a second's notice, and Harry lets every thought float from his mind, pressing closer to Zayn and nuzzling his nose into his hair, and as he feels Zayn's hand over his own give a gentle squeeze, Harry falls into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

When Harry's eyes flutter open the next day, Zayn is already up. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Harry and facing the large windows. It's bright outside, that early morning sunlight floating into the room. They'd forgot to shut the blinds before they fell asleep last night and Harry had felt the light on his eyelids before he squinted them open.

He watches Zayn for a while. He's just sitting there, still with no top on, only in his boxers, his hands gripping the bed at his sides. Harry can see his calm breathing by the way his back moves, and he lets himself just look for a bit, as Zayn sits there, watching something on the other side of the window.

Harry shifts a bit on the bed, moving his arm up to tuck under his head and Zayn turns back at the sound. He smiles when he sees that Harry is awake, and Harry smiles back sleepily. The silence is heavy around them, only the birds on top of the building on the other side of the street being able to be heard through the window. It's not an uncomfortable silence, and Harry feels more relaxed than he has in a while.

Zayn moves to lean across the bed, and Harry immediately pulls himself up on an elbow in time for their lips to meet in a soft lingering kiss. He closes his eyes at the feeling, his fingers tingling both from the dehydration of his body, and the feeling of Zayn's mouth on his yet again. Zayn pulls back, still with a smile on his face.

“It's only half eight yet.” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. “The boys won't be up for a while but, I couldn't sleep.”

Harry nods, searching Zayn's face for an answer to a question he hasn't asked. Zayn keeps his eyes firm on Harry's, half-lidded in the early morning, a warmth in his gaze that makes Harry want to jump into the pools of hazel and bathe in the sense of familiarity they emit.

“You alright?” he asks instead. None of them have mentioned the night before, but somehow, it doesn't feel needed. Zayn's smile grows wider.

“Yeah. You?”

Harry mirrors his expression.

“Yeah.”

Zayn leans in for another kiss, and Harry revels in it, for the short time that it lasts. He opens his eyes again when he feels Zayn pull away. Getting off the bed, Zayn stands up and stretches his arms up towards the ceiling, Harry watching him with a smile.

“You wanna go down to get some breakfast?” Zayn sighs as his body slumps back again. Harry nods happily.

“Well, get up then,” Zayn grins, bending down to get Harry's jeans from the floor and throwing them at his face. Harry has just enough time to shield himself and he glares grumpily at Zayn who just laughs and goes into the toilet to brush his teeth. Harry follows him with his eyes until he disappears out of sight, letting out a large breath as he turns back to face the rest of the hotel room. Their clothes are still scattered on the floor and Harry fights back a grin.

A buzzing noise wakes him from his thoughts and he looks to the right to see Zayn's phone light up where it lays on the nightstand. He manages to catch a glimpse of a heart emoji before the screen turns dark again and on pure instinct, he turns his head away quickly. He doesn't have a chance to let his thoughts wander any further before Zayn pops his head out of the bathroom.

“You can borrow some of my boxers, babe,” he says through a mouthful of toothpaste and Harry laughs, forgetting everything else but Zayn's stupid face.

“Thanks,” he says, giving Zayn a jokingly strange look and Zayn makes a stupid face back. Harry laughs again and throws the covers off the bed to get up.

 

 

They sit at a table in the corner of the hotel dining hall, stuffing their faces with food and making the most of having some hotel breakfast for once. They talk about whatever, where they're headed to next and about the show the night before. Harry asks Zayn if he's feeling any better, and Zayn smiles and says “Yeah”, looking at him secretively and making Harry blush and Zayn laugh at the way he turns his eyes down towards the table. Harry throws a piece of toast at him and Zayn yelps, still laughing and blowing Harry a kiss across the table that Harry goofily catches, making them both giggle like dorks.

If Harry had any proper sense left in his brain, he'd probably be worried. He might be wondering to himself what the hell he's doing, sitting here laughing with his best friend, wearing his boxers and a borrowed shirt, after having spent the night together, kissing and touching and sleeping naked in the same bed. If he had any proper sense left at all, he'd tell himself to stop now, before whatever this was went any further than it already had. But any proper sense flew out of his head after he kissed Zayn the night before. The year before. And sitting here now, giggling over some Italian pastries, Harry is too happy to care.

-

A month goes by quicker than ever, and Harry finds himself in America with the boys before he can even make peace with the ending of the European tour. Everything so far has happened so fast and now is no exception, as they're travelling in a tour bus to their first stop in Miami. Tomorrow's the video shoot, and Harry can't wait.

The past month has been great, amazing even, everything floating along perfectly. The tour, the travels, the vibe with the boys and the team. Harry doesn't want to say that the situation with Zayn has had anything to do with it, but he can't deny the added energy and revived ambition that he's been feeling these past weeks. It doesn't even make sense, because nothing they've been doing should have had any effect whatsoever on his heightened sense of drive and motivation, or the lift in his mood that has always been pretty sunny anyway. But something is just different, and the only thing that has really changed is his relationship with his bandmate.

Ever since that first night in Verona, they've been almost inseparable. The two of them have always been close, just as with the other boys, all for their different reasons, but a slight switch has happened and Harry and Zayn have shown more signs of being attached at the hip than ever before. “The Dangerous Duo” Louis has called them on more than one occasion, not without a hint of mild recognition in his eyes, something that Harry doesn't want to think too much about whenever he notices it.

But what Louis doesn't know is the way that the two of them have taken upon themselves to sneak into each other's hotel rooms after everyone has gone to sleep. How Harry and Zayn have been looking over their shoulders for prying eyes before hiding in the shadows of an empty arena hallway to get a quick snog in before a show. What no one knows is the way Harry sucks on that certain spot on Zayn's collarbone, just lightly enough not to leave a mark, or the way Zayn bites on Harry's bottom lip sometimes when he's about to come. They've been keeping themselves to themselves as much as has been needed. So even though they don't bother about turning down the normal kind of affection between them, which may or may not have had an uprising during the past months anyway, the things they do behind closed doors are for no one's knowledge but theirs.

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't find it immensely exciting to be keeping this secret, this thing that started out of nowhere, this incredible situation that he has found himself in, with Zayn. Him and Zayn, Zayn and him. He doesn't know he could ever have found himself in a luckier situation, travelling across the world with his band, getting to play shows for thousands of people every day. And when the show is over; getting to shack up with the most beautiful boy that he has ever been fortunate enough to lay his eyes on. He doesn't understand it, but he doesn't question a single thing, and it is all enough to make any thought of what they're doing being at all wrong completely vanish into thin air.

The bus gives a shaky jump as it drives over a bump in the road and Harry reaches out a hand to steady himself on a nearby bunk as he makes his way over to the one with the curtains shut around it. He's been in the living area watching Liam, Louis and Niall indulge in a game of FIFA, sitting by with one eye on the game and one on his phone, sending a couple of texts back to his mum, and Nick, who's been checking in to see how he's doing and how thing's are going so far. They won't get to see each other for another month or so, and it sucks, but he's found something to distract himself with, something that won't make him feel as homesick as he might have before. Or rather, someone.

Harry reaches a hand in to grab at Zayn's ankle through the curtains and he feels it stiffen underneath his grip.

“Fucking-” Zayn swears, and Harry laughs, pulling the curtains to the side enough for him to climb into the bunk. Zayn's eyes are squinting open from being woken from his nap, and Harry would feel a tiny bit guilty if it wasn't for how cute Zayn looks even when he's only half-conscious, and how he's not regretting waking him one bit. He crawls in, trying to keep track of all of his limbs and clumsily moves over Zayn to lay down in the small cramped space between him and the wall.

“You have a nice sleep?” he says into Zayn's ear, still with a cheeky little grin on his face, and Zayn takes one look at him before rolling his eyes and letting his eyelids fall shut again.

“I was,” he sighs, squirming back into a comfortable position, facing the bunk above them. “Until I was woken by what could only be described as an obnoxious man-child with too many legs.”

“Hey,” Harry frowns. “I only have two. What am I gonna do about that?” he sounds genuinely distraught in his own slow and lazy way and Zayn giggles sleepily, shaking his head and lifts an arm for Harry to curl under.

“What's up? What are the other boys doing?” his eyes are still closed but Harry appreciates the effort. He feels restless, but laying here with Zayn is calming him down slightly, breathing in his warm smell and feeling the solid weight of his arm around him.

“Playing FIFA,” he sighs, feeling himself getting cranky, and Zayn must feel it too because a chuckle rumbles through his body. “I was getting so bored I thought my head was gonna explode.”

Zayn laughs quietly. “Well, that doesn't sound too good. What do you want me to do about it? Hold your ears?”

Harry snickers. Laying here in such close proximity, feeling Zayn's breath on his face, something else inside him is in the mood to be set free and he bites his lip, watching Zayn's eyelids and tired smile. Moving the arm that he has slung over Zayn's stomach so that he can slide his hand under his shirt, Harry crowds into Zayn and starts peppering kisses over the side of his face. Zayn makes a little noise in the back of his throat, a grumpy whine that Harry pays no mind, and moves his head away from Harry, giving him the opportunity to trail kisses down his neck as well.

“I have something else that you can hold onto,” Harry murmurs against Zayn's ear, trying to choke down a laughter at the ridiculousness of the line and Zayn can't help but snort.

“You're such a weirdo,” he says, but the arm around Harry's shoulders tightens its grip just a little bit.

Harry huffs out a laugh of his own but still doesn't stop his fingers from nudging beneath the waistband of Zayn's joggers.

“Harry,” Zayn whispers in an admonishing tone and Harry moves his hand up to stroke at Zayn's side under his shirt instead, long and languid movements that make the hairs on Zayn's body stand on end.

“I can't help it,” Harry whispers back. “I wanna taste you.”

That's another new thing as well. Just like probably most guys if they were pushed for an answer, Harry had toyed with the idea of being intimate with another man before he and Zayn started up their thing. Having someone else's hardness in his hand instead of his own, and feeling a flat chest up against his. It had never been something he had given any massive thought to, but the image floated through his head at times. The fact that they always involved the same person made Harry continuously want to push the images aside. But when he against all odds was granted the permission to touch the one body that was ever on his mind, he let his thoughts start to wander. And when he finally found himself on his knees in front of Zayn, he couldn't help but scold himself for not taking the chance to do so before.

Looking up at Zayn looking down on him as he took him in his mouth was an almost transcendental experience. Considering the fact that Harry had never done anything like it before, he felt more confident than he probably should, or would have had it been with anyone else, but the way Zayn was looking at him, the noises he was making as Harry tried his best to make it as good as possible. The power Harry had felt in that moment, feeling Zayn come undone by his own mouth and hand, and closing his eyes as he released onto his tongue, not hesitating for one second before swallowing. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

And when Zayn returned the favour once he'd come down from his high, watching him look up at Harry as he licked long stripes up and down his cock before sucking him down enthusiastically. Harry came faster than was probably acceptable, but he couldn't give one single fuck.

Zayn told him later once Harry had stopped panting and they were laying face to face, that he was so happy that Harry had been the one to ask for this first, because Zayn had been wanting to do it for a while but wasn't sure if it would have been stepping over a line. Harry had swallowed roughly, and had dared ask a question he'd been pushing to the back of his mind for as long as possible. If Zayn had actually done any of this before, with anyone else but Harry. And when Zayn had shaken his head, his eyes firm on Harry and said “Never. Only you.” it had been enough to have Harry hard again.

Harry both hears and feels Zayn let out a shuddering breath and he bites his lip down on a grin, rising up on an elbow to kiss him gently, letting his lips linger on Zayn's for a bit. He can feel Zayn shake his head against him and he pulls back to look at him.

“Later,” his eyes are wide, and Harry can see the lust in them that Zayn is trying so hard to repress. His tone is hushed but firm and Harry gives one last brave attempt.

“Not later. Now,” he says, going in for another kiss and grabbing at Zayn's crotch, but Zayn is faster and gets a hold of Harry's hand and pushes him back to lay on his side again, back against the wall. Harry huffs petulantly and Zayn can't help but chuckle at his pouting face.

“Later,” he says again, with a small smile on his face now, letting go of Harry's hand and lifting his leg to throw over his hip. He rests his hand on Harry's hip and Harry huffs again, getting himself comfortable and pushing his heel into the back of Zayn's leg, glaring half-heartedly.

“Mood-killer,” he mutters, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “When's later, then?”

“Tomorrow night,” Zayn says after thinking for a second. Harry whines.

“Tomorrow night? Tonight!” Zayn shushes him, resisting another eye-roll by the look on his face, and Harry pushes his heel into Zayn's legs a bit harder.

“We have to get up so early tomorrow morning,” Harry is just about to say something, but Zayn gives him a look and he closes his mouth, most likely doing a very good job of looking every bit the part of a spoiled child by the way Zayn's mouth twitches. “I wanna take my time with you.” Zayn says lowly, making sure Harry is the only one who will hear him. Harry can feel a flush break out on his face, going as far up as to his ears, and Zayn giggles at the sight. The boys are yelling from the front of the bus and Harry lets out a breath, being reminded of how close they actually are to the others.

“Twat,” he mutters, before tucking his head under Zayn's chin, pulling closer without giving Zayn any say in the matter. He feels Zayn's quiet laugh against his ear and lets himself enjoy Zayn's fingers starting to card through his hair before willing himself to fall into a light sleep.

-

If Harry were to die in this very moment, he would welcome the release with open arms.

It'd be fairly tragic and he'd have to feel sad about not saying goodbye to his family, of course. And the shooting of this music video would be a complete failure, all because of him dropping dead in the middle of the floor. But if Zayn dressed in a skirt and heels were to be the last thing he ever saw in his short life on this earth, he'd consider it a greater win than he could have ever wished for.

“What do you think?” is the first thing Zayn says as he stands beside where Harry is sitting in front of the mirror, getting his hair done for their upcoming scene together. If Harry had just had a sip of his tea that is sitting on the desk in front of him, it would have been all over Zayn's floaty blue blouse right about now.

Zayn does a stupid pose that he must not realise is a lot sexier than he probably is intending it to be, and Harry needs to clear his throat before saying anything, making sure he won't be choking on his own spit the moment he opens his mouth to speak.

“You look spectacular, babe” he says, just about remembering that they're not alone and surrounded by lots of people and that he can't say what he actually feels, as he looks Zayn up and down appreciatively. Zayn smirks back at him, looking down at himself and smoothing out his skirt. Harry takes a deep breath.

“Yeah?” he says, looking back up at Harry and Harry can do nothing but nod. “You might have to hold onto me though once we get in front of the camera, these heels are near fucking impossible to walk in,” he holds onto Harry's shoulder and Harry grips his elbow on instinct to make sure he doesn't fall as Zayn raises one foot to look at the stiletto.

“Not a problem, babe, I've got you,” Harry says, finally getting his wits about him somewhat, and looks back up at Zayn, grinning and giving him a stupid wink. Zayn laughs and shakes his head, pouting sexily back at him in a joking manner and Harry's eyes grow wide around a smile just before Caroline comes up behind Zayn to usher him away to the clothes department again, saying something about bra cups, and Harry turns his head to watch him go. Lou, who's doing his hair, moves his head back towards the mirror and Harry goes easily, fixing his eyes on himself and biting down on his bottom lip, trying to hide an obvious grin.

 

 

Harry waits until the small dressing room is completely cleared from any other people before going up to Zayn who's standing by the mirror taking his earrings off. He's been purposely dawdling with getting out of his costume, Harry noticing immediately, and Caroline is still waiting in the clothing section for Zayn to return his stuff, but he's taking his time and Harry knows exactly why.

He walks up to the door and takes a quick peek outside to check if anyone is on their way in there before pushing it closed, not completely, but enough that there is not a crack there for anyone to look through. He cathes Zayn glancing at him through the mirror as he turns back around and Harry grins before walking up behind him, grabbing onto his hips and watching their reflections. Harry's wearing his own clothes again, and is pretty much ready to go, but there is no way he is gonna pass up the opportunity to get a bit of alone time with Veronica. Zayn smirks back at him before pointedly ignoring him and going back to taking off his jewellery.

“I'm sure I had some cheesy line ready to pop out, but now that I'm looking at you up close like this, I don't even know what to say,” Harry says, his honesty surprising even himself. Zayn looks like he's trying to hold down a self-satisfied smirk and Harry grips his hips a little tighter.

“Way to make a girl feel self-conscious about her appearance,” Zayn says casually, his voice contrasting his look so much, and Harry smiles, wrapping his arms fully around Zayn's waist, pulling him back towards his body. Raising a hand up he moves the long locks of Zayn's rather impressive wig to the side, not hesitating in nibbling on his exposed neck, biting down a tad too hard and making Zayn move to the side just enough for Harry to stop.

“No marks, babe,” Zayn says quietly, in a voice that sounds to have had to repeat the phrase a fair few times before. Harry sighs out before dropping a trail of kisses up Zayn's neck, stopping behind his ear and letting his tongue dart out to swipe at the sensitive spot. Zayn's breath has grown deeper and Harry catches his eyes through the mirror, giving a satisfied smile at the warm shade of hazel that seems to be turning darker with Harry's every move.

“You're ridiculously slow, you gonna stay the night or what?” he says quietly into Zayn's ear and Zayn smiles.

“What, here? Or are you talking about something else,” he says with false confusion.

Harry bites his lip. “I wasn't, but I am now. It's tomorrow night.”

Zayn forces a smile away. “Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, just let me take this stuff off.” he sighs, Harry seeing the playfulness in his face.

“You will be. I'll make sure of it,” Harry can't resist saying, and Zayn shakes his head, a laugh escaping from his lips and the grin on his face matches the one on Harry's.

With no hesitation, they both decline the other boys' offer of a night out to live it up, despite the fact that they need to be up just as early the next morning. Zayn uses that excuse when they ask and Niall rolls his eyes.

“A couple of bloody pensioners, you are,” he says and Harry does a pouting frown. But Louis just laughs and puts an arm around Niall's shoulder where they're all standing in the lobby of the hotel.

“Leave them to it, Nialler, they clearly have some couples-knitting that they need to catch up on,” and Harry tries not to blush, or to focus too deeply on the lingering look that Louis gives them both before they all pile into the lift together.

“You wanna stay in for some beers or something?” Harry asks Zayn loudly enough for the rest of the boys to hear as they're walking through the hallway to reach their rooms. “We could watch some football or something too, get the man in you back to life,” he jokes with a grin and Zayn laughs at his words.

“Yeah, why not,” he says, locking eyes with Harry for a second too long before they all pile into their each respective rooms.

 

 

Harry has the time to have a nice long shower and order up some room service before Zayn knocks on his door maybe two hours later. He texted Harry to let him know when he was coming and Harry gets up from his place on the bed where he's been scrolling through his phone to go open the door.

Zayn is in casual clothing, a t-shirt and some joggers, Harry much the same, and Zayn's eyes immediately light up once their eyes meet, instantly being able to smell the room service.

“Food?” he asks and Harry laughs.

He nods, ushering Zayn inside and closing the door. “I didn't know what you wanted so I ordered a bit of everything,” he has the time to say before Zayn is already sitting at the little table the waiter had set up, and tucking into a plate of spaghetti bolognese. Harry smiles and goes to join him and they eat in a peaceful silence until they're both completely satisfied.

“I need a smoke,” Zayn sighs after they've lounged at the table for a while, and he gets up to head for the balcony, not getting very far before Harry is on his feet and grabbing onto his waist.

“Oh no, you don't, not until I get what _I_ need,” he can hear the childishness in his own voice but he doesn't care. He's waited and he doesn't wanna wait anymore. Zayn fixes him with a not all too surprised frown.

“Anyone ever tell you that you're a spoiled little shit?” he asks, his calm tone a weird contrast to his words.

“Yeah,” Harry says confidently, not missing a beat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows in interest and a grin creeps onto Harry's face. Zayn narrows his eyes, a smile on his own lips, and he grips Harry's sides, forcing him to quickly move backwards before pushing him easily onto the unmade king sized bed. Harry bounces against the mattress slightly as he falls, looking back up at Zayn, feeling downright giddy, the big grin firm on his face, and Zayn shakes his head before crawling on top of him.

“I'll show you what I'll fucking do about it,” he murmurs, and his tone is still playful but the hidden meaning behind his words makes Harry's stomach tingle and he lets out a breath of excitement, right before Zayn's lips meet his. There's force behind his actions, like he knows exactly where he's heading with this, and Harry doesn't even try to do anything but lay there and let him do what he wants. Zayn slows down the kiss a bit and Harry reaches up a hand to tangle in his hair, enjoying the softness through all the feelings of lust, and Zayn hums contently into his mouth.

“This what you want?” he says after having pulled back slowly to look down at Harry lying beneath him. Harry bites his lips and nods. Zayn smiles gently and kisses him again, starting to move his mouth downwards in a trail towards his neck. He huffs out a sigh of frustration and moves away to grab at Harry's shirt.

“Off,” is all Zayn says, and Harry sits up immediately, tugging his shirt off and helping Zayn to get rid of his own before laying back down again, pulling Zayn with him and letting him fit nicely between his legs.

Zayn continues his ministrations, trailing soft and gentle kisses down Harry's body, stopping in certain places to give a bit of extra attention, and Harry raises a hand from the sheets to cup around the back of Zayn's head as he lingers by his belly button. His breathing has turned heavy and he tries not to move his stomach too much to distract Zayn from what he's doing. Zayn reaches the top of Harry's joggers and slowly sticks his fingers under the waistband, waiting to pull them down as he licks at the dusting of hair at the bottom of Harry's tummy. Harry subtly tries to move his hips up to get Zayn to move and Zayn grins, biting his lip and looking up at Harry who tries to tell Zayn to keep going with his eyes. Zayn looks down at where he's holding onto the waistband again, and tugs it down finally, the boxers along with them, all the way down Harry's long legs before dropping them off the side of the bed. Zayn sits on his knees between Harry's legs after having removed his last piece of clothing, and he rests his hands on Harry's thighs, slowly sliding them upwards to where Harry needs them the most.

“Zayn, come one, don't make me beg,” Harry says, a pleading look in his eyes already and biting down on his lip. Zayn smirks back up at him.

“No?” He says before leaning down to lick around the base of Harry's hard cock that's laying flat against his tummy, dripping slightly onto his happy trail. Harry bucks his hips up again, gently so as not to disturb Zayn too much and Zayn pulls away with a little grin. “You _have_ waited a long time, babe. I got you,” he says, and fits his mouth around the head of Harry's cock, sucking gently on the leaking tip.

It hasn't been that long at all, three days at most, and Harry knows that he's being an impatient little brat, but as the warmth of Zayn's mouth envelops him, it feels like he hasn't been touched in a lifetime.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forcing his eyes to stay open, looking down at where Zayn's own eyes are closed as he languidly sucks at Harry's positively rock hard cock. Harry lets a hand tangle through Zayn's hair, soft from his shower and Zayn opens his eyes to look up at him. He pops off his dick, making Harry gasp, and rubs his tongue along the length of him, up and down slowly while keeping the eye-contact. Harry is doing everything he can to keep his breathing slow and calm, watching Zayn treat his cock with utmost care, almost tenderness, and he wonders, not for the first time and definitely not the last, how the fuck he ever got so lucky.

Zayn smiles at him, his tongue still out and moving down to focus on Harry's balls. For someone who hasn't indulged in the art of sucking cock until just a short month ago, Zayn has got his skills down to a tee. Harry would say he was born to do this if he wasn't so sure of how sleazy it would sound. And Zayn loves it too, you can tell how much he loves it as he closes his eyes again, sucking Harry's balls into his mouth and rubbing his tongue against them, and Harry groans deeply in his throat, Zayn mimicking the sound and making Harry's groan fade into a whimper. Zayn keeps mouthing at him and Harry moves the hand that isn't still in Zayn's hair down to grab at his cock. He gets a few strokes in before Zayn looks up at him, still keeping his mouth busy, an intense look in his eyes. He doesn't need to say a word, Harry huffing out a breath and gripping the pillow under his head instead.

Zayn is moving lower and lower, and all of a sudden he is sucking at the skin under Harry's balls, licking stripes along his perineum and before Harry knows what's happening, Zayn's tongue is flicking over his hole. He gasps loudly, and Zayn smiles before repeating his actions.

“You ever had someone eat you out before?” he asks quietly, looking up at Harry with slightly raised eyebrows as he gently puts his hands on his thighs, moving them up and out slowly. Harry is breathing heavily through his open mouth, shaking his head and watching Zayn's every movement. This is all very new, and his stomach is suddenly bubbling with anticipation.

“Never?” Zayn says, his eyes dark with lust as he looks up at Harry from his place between his now spread thighs. Harry feels more exposed than he's ever been before, but the look in Zayn's eyes is riddled with a warmth, and Harry feels himself relax a bit. He shakes his head wordlessly, and watches as Zayn lowers himself down again, slowly, as if he's waiting for an objection of some kind. It doesn't come and Harry feels his eyes drift shut at the feeling of Zayn's hot tongue against his hole once more. Zayn licks heavy stripes over the entire cleft of his arse and Harry feels the chill of the wetness as Zayn's breath flows over his skin. Opening his eyes again he has just enough time to prepare himself for when Zayn moves in to suck at his rim. Harry bites down firmly on his lip, a whine getting caught in his throat, carding his fingers through Zayn's hair and getting him to look up at him. There is something so infinitely intimate in what they're doing, how Harry's letting Zayn put his mouth and focus on where he's never let anyone else before, and Harry feels a wave of warmth float through his body.

Zayn moves a hand from where it has been cupping the roundness of Harry's cheek, and lets the pad of his thumb rub over his entrance, making Harry shiver and sigh, his whole body melting into the sheets completely. He feels Zayn's thumb start to gently press down, the tip of it moving to sink into his opening and Harry flinches just slightly, making Zayn look up at him from where he's been watching his finger.

“This okay?” he asks, nothing but tenderness and concern in his voice. Harry nods immediately, because the flinch was nothing but a normal instinct, and Zayn keeps his thumb rubbing against him. “You want more?” he asks quietly, eyes firm on Harry's to be able to catch every emotion on his face. Harry bites his lip for just a second before nodding his head again. He does want more. He wants everything, and he wants it with Zayn, and he tries to focus on the way that Zayn is now sucking on his middle finger instead of letting his dangerous train of thoughts go any further. As Zayn pushes his finger into him, Harry forces himself to stay calm and relaxed.

It does sting a bit, but the uncomfortable feeling isn't as bad as Harry was expecting and he breathes slowly and heavily so as not to tense up. Zayn is sucking his balls back into his mouth and Harry gasps out a confused moan, not knowing where he should put his focus on, but the slight burning sensation is fading away quickly and Harry lets his head fall back against the bed, holding tight onto the pillow that he's resting on. Zayn is moving downwards again and as Harry feels his tongue begin to lick at where his finger is slowly starting to pump in and out of him, he feels his eyes roll into the back of his head.

It goes on like that for a minute, Harry's cock growing back into full hardness after having softened slightly at the intrusion of Zayn's finger. The sensation is still weird but Harry is taking his time to feel every single touch and lick, every shudder rushing through his body as Zayn nibbles on the skin near his arsehole. Slowly, Zayn is starting to pull his finger out and Harry bites his lip and holds his breath before releasing it completely as Zayn's finger leaves his body. He looks back down to see Zayn dive in yet again, putting his mouth on his rim and reaching up with a hand to stroke Harry's cock, and all of a sudden, every nerve in Harry's body is coming to life. Zayn wastes no time in getting his strokes up to a quick pace and Harry's hand releases Zayn's hair to mirror the one by his head, taking a firm hold on his pillow and finally allowing his breathing to quicken. He has time to choke out a curse before he is coming onto his stomach, Zayn's tongue and hand slowing their movements, but not pulling back from where they're still making his body shake with the force of his orgasm.

Harry looks down at Zayn as soon as he can force his eyes open, shuddering a couple of more times as Zayn abandons licking and sucking at his hole to wrap his lips around his cock again, still stroking his hand slowly up and down, and Harry instantly reaches both hands down to gently stroke through Zayn's hair, breathing out another moan and feeling the beating of his heart slow down considerably. With one last soft suck Zayn lets Harry's cock fall from his lips, and Harry sighs in relief, closing his eyes to breathe.

He hears Zayn move around before feeling a soft piece of fabric swipe at his stomach, cleaning away the mess he made. Opening his eyes he sees Zayn holding Harry's now ruined shirt in his hand and Harry grunts, mustering up a frown, before his eyes fall onto Zayn's hard cock bobbing between his legs. Zayn smiles at Harry's face and throws the shirt back onto the floor before crawling on top of him to kiss him. Harry grips at his hips, stroking his hands up and down his sides and Zayn sighs against his lips before pulling away just enough to be able to look into Harry's eyes properly.

“Was that okay?” his voice is barely a whisper. Harry feels his warm breath on his face and he wraps his arms fully around Zayn's narrow waist, pulling him down against him so he can feel him stiff against his tummy. He nods, biting his lip and focusing on Zayn's.

“That was amazing, you're amazing,” he breathes out, still in a bit of a daze from his unbelievable high. Zayn chuckles and Harry smiles back at him. “You are,” he goes on, and Zayn's smile grows smaller, more intimate. Harry can hear a blaring signal go off inside his head, for whatever reason, he doesn't want to think about. It's a far off sound and he tunes it out in favour of pulling Zayn down for a kiss. He focuses on the way Zayn is still hard against him and pulls back to look down between them, moving his hands down to grip at Zayn's arse cheeks. Feeling what Zayn just did to him has made Harry desperate to do the same for him, and he can already feel his mouth watering.

“You gonna let me return the favour?” he murmurs against Zayn's lips, pushing him down slightly and letting Zayn grind himself against him. A small smirk is back on Zayn's face and he focuses his attention fully on Harry, not letting him look away from his sharp gaze.

“That what you want?” he asks lowly, and Harry already finds himself nodding. “Yeah? You wanna lick my arse?” he rolls his hips down on Harry with more pressure behind his movements and Harry just about forces a whimper back into his throat.

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Please,” he feels his own cock start to fatten up again, way too soon and way too quickly. Zayn must feel it too because he bites his lip on a pleased smile, probably both at the feeling and at Harry's words of desperation, keeping up the rolling of his hips and making it increasingly difficult for Harry to focus on anything else.

Harry is so distracted by the shock of getting hard again so soon that he barely registers Zayn moving his mouth to nibble on his ear, but the words he utters next, are completely unmissable.

“How about you fuck me instead?”

Harry does choke then. Hearing Zayn say those words right into his ear makes him involuntarily draw in a sharp hissing breath and he chokes on his own god damn spit, making Zayn pull back and look down at him in concern. Harry coughs and Zayn flinches, putting a hand on Harry's chest and rubbing at the skin as Harry lifts a fist to cover his mouth. The coughing fit only lasts for a few seconds but Harry can still feel his cheeks burning, and he certainly wouldn't mind the ground to swallow him up, if it also didn't mean that he wouldn't be able to take Zayn up on his offer. Harry takes a couple of deep breaths and looks back up at Zayn who's watching him with a gentle and slightly amused frown.

“You alright?” he asks, still rubbing at Harry's chest and Harry swallows and nods, Zayn's question floating into the forefront of his mind now that he can breathe properly again. He moves his hands back down to Zayn's arse, squeezing slowly and firmly, still breathing heavily and Zayn gives a knowing smirk.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks him, even though it's taking everything in him to not just shout out a 'yes' and move on as swiftly as possible. It feels like a poignant moment, and Harry swallows down his nerves.

Zayn nods immediately. “Yeah, I've been thinking about it. I want you to do it,” Harry can see the eagerness in Zayn's face, that he is trying half-heartedly to disguise, probably in wait of Harry's answer. Zayn has nothing to worry about, and he must know that too with the way he's biting down on his lip now, trying to hide a smile, and Harry just nods like an idiot, trying not to focus too much on the fact that this has been something that Zayn has been imagining to himself. Him and Harry, like this.

“Okay,” he breathes out, still nodding, and Zayn nods back just before Harry pulls him down for a deep kiss, putting all of his excitement and nervous anticipation into it and letting Zayn taste his tongue. Just remembering where Zayn's mouth has just been makes Harry moan against his lips and Zayn chuckles before moving away to look down at Harry, slightly breathless from the kiss and his own nerves.

“You got anything?” he asks gently, and Harry viciously forces his mind completely awake. This is happening, now. He nods vigourously, fringe flying on his forehead and Zayn giggles at him.

“Yeah, hold on,” Harry says, and moves off the bed after Zayn slides off of him. He hurries to his suitcase lying open on the floor by the window, rummaging through it for a condom and lube. Sighing in frustration, he sticks his hand down in an outer pocket, moving it about to look for the stuff.

“Where the fuck is it,” he whispers to himself and hears an amused chuckle from the bed behind him.

“There's no rush, babe,” Zayn says, and Harry looks back at him over his shoulder. He's laying sprawled on the sheets with his legs slightly bent and spread out, a hand on his cock stroking himself loosely. Harry groans, just as his hand finds a condom packet in a corner of his bag and he quickly stands up, kicking the suitcase further away from him and throwing the packet on the bed next to Zayn on his way to the bathroom. Finding a travel sized bottle of lube in his toiletry bag, he whispers a small “get in,” and then snickers at his own words and hurries out to join Zayn on the bed again.

Crawling up on his knees between Zayn's spread legs on the big bed, Harry almost feels like he's having an out of body experience. Zayn is laying on the sheets, looking up at him with big expectant eyes, waiting for him to get the both of them ready to have sex, full blown sex, and Harry needs to take a minute. He grasps onto Zayn's knees to steady himself, to get himself back to earth and Zayn reaches a hand up to pull him down to him, giving him a kiss so soft in contrast to what they're about to do, and Harry feels himself relax fully.

“You alright? We don't have to if you're uncomfortable,” Zayn whispers into his mouth, drawing back just enough to be able to look Harry in the eyes. Harry forces down a lump in his throat that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, at Zayn's soft tone and at the way his eyes are once again filled with gentle concern, and shakes himself out of his thoughts.

“I'm good, I'm great, I want to,” he rushes out in the same hushed tone, and Zayn nods along with him, a small smile on his face. He kisses him again, reaching a hand for the lube at the same time and presses it into Harry's.

“I want you to,” Zayn bites his lip and Harry wills his breathing to calm down.

Standing back up on his knees, he focuses on the bottle in his hand rather than at the man lying in front of him, for the sake of saving time and for keeping his sanity. Popping the cap open he coats a couple of fingers with the substance before pressing the lid closed and putting the bottle to the side. Zayn is stroking himself again and Harry pointedly keeps his focus on his face, moving closer and blindly reaching between their bodies to probe at Zayn's entrance. His fingers slide against him for a moment, and Harry watches Zayn bite down on his lip as he pushes the first digit inside. It goes very easily, and Harry needs to look down at where his finger is quickly pushing in and out of Zayn gently. He must look confused when he looks back up at Zayn again because he gets a breathy laugh in return.

“I knew I was gonna ask you to, so I got myself... ready in the shower,” Zayn's voice is the tiniest bit on the shaky side, but Harry is busy trying not to come just by hearing what he's saying.

“Fucking-” he gets out before moving down to latch onto Zayn's collarbone. Both Harry's mouth against his skin and a second finger pushing in immediately after is enough to have Zayn gasping into Harry's ear, and Harry bites down gently at a spot on his chest. He's pumping his fingers in and out slowly, feeling Zayn's heavy breathing against him and trying not to think about the way he must be dripping himself with how turned on he is. He moves back to look down at Zayn properly, seeing his flushed cheeks and meeting his eyes.

“One more?” Harry asks, and Zayn nods quickly. His feet have lifted from resting on the sheets and his knees are bent by Harry's sides and Harry pulls out his fingers completely before pushing back in with three. Zayn is pressing his head back against the pillow with his eyes closed, breathing heavily through the slight stinging sensation and Harry doesn't waste one moment, licking a long stripe up his neck, peppering kisses along his skin and slowly starting to move his fingers inside of him. Zayn breathes out a low moan against his ear and Harry has just enough time to quickly say a prayer of thanks in his head before Zayn is pushing gently at his shoulder, making him move back.

“That's enough, I'm good,” Zayn breathes, gasping as Harry pumps his fingers a few more times before slowly pulling them out completely.

“You good?” Harry repeats to make sure, copying Zayn's breathless voice because he needs to take those extra breaths now in hopes of not passing out as soon as he gets inside him. Zayn just nods, grabbing a condom from the packet and ripping it open, pushing Harry back onto his knees and rolling it onto his dick that is leaking just as much as Harry suspected.

Harry hurriedly lubes himself up with shaking hands, throwing the bottle recklessly off the bed when he's done and crowding closer to zayn and gripping one hand under one of Zayn's bent knees, holding his cock at the base with the other. Zayn gets a hold under his other leg and Harry lets go of him to move to hold himself up over Zayn as he leans forward instead. This is it. _Shit, this is it_ , is all that Harry can think of as he looks down at Zayn who's looking back up at him. He doesn't need to ask anything more, and as Harry moves down to press his forehead against Zayn's, he slowly starts to push the tip of his cock into him.

Both of their eyes are fixed on where Harry is pressing his cock as gently inside of Zayn as he possibly can, holding their breaths in unison. Zayn doesn't tell Harry to stop so he doesn't, he continues to move until he can feel his and Zayn's thighs touching, biting back a moan both at the feeling of warmth and incredible tightness all around him and at Zayn's nails digging into his shoulders. Harry takes a second to let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and trying to stay calm. It's taking absolutely everything in him not to just start pounding into him but he needs to make sure Zayn is okay, and he moves further away to be able to see Zayn's face. It's scrunched up slightly, the skin between his eyebrows creased, and he's breathing heavily and loudly, his eyes closed tightly and Harry lifts a hand to stroke over his head.

“You okay? Does it hurt?” he gets out in a voice that is trembling just a little bit, and Zayn shakes his head wordlessly before gasping as Harry inadvertently pushes his hips even closer. “Sorry, sorry.” Harry rushes out, feeling his whole body heat up at the physical exertion of holding himself up and trying to stay as still as humanly possible. His legs are trembling and he curls his toes against the sheets.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes out, his grip on Harry's shoulders having loosened just a bit and Harry focuses on his face again. “I'm okay,” Zayn says. “Fuck, you feel huge,” he almost whines as Harry feels Zayn's heels come up to press at his bum, pulling Harry further against him and Harry moans, burying his face in Zayn's neck and slowly starting to roll his hips against Zayn's. He hears Zayn keen in his throat before he whispers in his ear. “Fuck, it's good, keep going,” and Harry moves back to look at him.

Zayn's mouth is slack and his cheeks are flushed pink and Harry thinks this must be the most beautiful he's ever seen him. Zayn looks up at Harry after tearing his eyes away from where they're joined together and Harry manages to capture the little gasp he makes as Harry presses in firmer.

“Is that good?” Harry whispers and Zayn nods instantly, drawing in large breaths through his open mouth. “Yeah?” Harry pushes on. “How does it feel?” He's pulling out a bare inch more before pushing in now and Zayn closes his eyes for a second as their thighs meet again.

“It feels good, fuck, it feels so good,” is all he can say, and Harry moans loudly as Zayn clenches down around him for a brief second. He's upped his pace a little bit but he's still moving slowly and surely, enough to even impress himself with how good he's holding up, but Zayn feels so ridiculously good and Harry wants more, he needs more, and by the way Zayn is moaning softly as Harry presses into him with more force than before, he might feel the same.

Moving one hand down, Harry hooks Zayn's leg over his elbow, keeping the other hand firmly in the sheets to make sure his weight is divided evenly and Zayn watches his movements with wide eyes, an almost shocked look on his face still from how much pleasure he is feeling already.

“This okay?” Harry asks, keeping his hips rolling gently and Zayn bites his bottom lip, humming in the affirmative, lifting a hand to grasp at the pillow and keeping the other on Harry's back. Harry starts to move faster even and Zayn's mouth falls open again, the smallest noises escaping him and Harry feels goosebumps rising on his skin. “You want more?” Harry can feel himself start to lose control, and he moves down to breathe into Zayn's open mouth before Zayn can get the chance to answer. “How do you want me to fuck you, Zayn?” his voice is lower now, more precise, and as he says it, he presses roughly into Zayn, keeping their hips flushed and grinding against him, and Zayn lets out a loud whine. He raises a hand to tangle and tug at Harry's hair, making Harry hiss, and what he whispers into Harry's mouth next is something he could have never prepared himself for.

“However you want to, Haz.”

Within a second Harry's mouth is on Zayn's, muffling the noise Zayn makes when he starts snapping his hips with a newfound strength. Harry sucks on Zayn's tongue for a brief moment until Zayn breaks free with a whimper in favour of looking down at where Harry is fucking into him, making his own cock move back and forth on his belly. Harry latches onto Zayn's neck instead, moaning deep in his throat as he listens to Zayn's quick breathing.

“Fuck, Harry- _shit_ , faster,” Zayn gasps, moving his head to place a couple of sloppy kisses at Harry's temple before Harry is rising back up and untangling his arm from under Zayn's thigh. He throws the leg over his hip instead and moves both hands up to grasp at the sheets by Zayn's head, Zayn having just enough time to lock his ankles behind Harry's back before he is pushed up the bed with the new force of Harry's thrusts. Zayn throws both hands up over his head to push his palms against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He's completely silent for a moment, and through his fuzzy and lustfilled mind Harry is about to slow down and ask if he's okay, before Zayn releases a loud and strangled moan, and Harry tries not to feel too pleased with himself. Just having Zayn underneath him like this is enough to make Harry feel like he's fucking invincible – the added fact of knowing how good he is making him feel, it gives Harry the energy to keep on doing it, for as long as Zayn needs him to. He might be feeling like he's going to pass out from all of the different sensations and emotions that are tumbling over him and all around, but through the fog of it all, all he can see is Zayn.

He rises up on his knees, putting his arms around Zayn's thighs and pulling them against his body, Zayn sliding along a couple of inches down the pillow. His grip on the headboard is abandoned and he reaches down to grab at his cock with one hand, the other making a fist in the sheets under the pillow just above his head. The new position lets Harry thrust in even deeper and in a new angle, and as he starts pounding into him again, Zayn lets out a yell in surprise at Harry hitting a new spot inside him.

“Fuck!” he chokes out, having to let go of his cock in favour of holding onto the bed with both hands, and Harry grins through a pant, before letting out a strangled groan as Zayn clenches down around him. Zayn is whining now, the sounds being pushed out of him with every thrust and Harry is completely transfixed, gaze firmly locked on Zayn – all of him – from his flushed face and chest to the way he is shoved up the bed and pulled back down as Harry slaps his hips against his, he's fucking beautiful, his brow furrowed deeply and a desperation in his eyes every time he forces them open to look down at where Harry is pushing inside of him. He's fucking beautiful, and Harry would tell him that, he'd tell him over and over and he'd mean every single word, if he wasn't afraid of what else might slip out along with them.

He lets go of Zayn's thighs and lays down against him, covering his body with his from head to toe, his forehead against Zayn's and the both of them keeping their eyes down towards where their hips are rocking together.

“Harry,” Zayn pants, and it's the most perfect sound Harry has ever heard. “Harry, I'm close,” he whines and Harry straightens up again, keeping his palms flat against the bed by Zayn's head and Zayn grabs a firm hold on his wrists, mouth falling completely open as Harry somehow starts to slam into him in an even faster pace.

Zayn moans loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Harry_ ,” he rushes out in a breathless voice, and Harry has just enough time to enjoy the look on his face before Zayn comes, untouched, clenching down repeatedly around Harry whose eyes are forced shut, getting a few more thrusts in before he is coming too, the feeling of Zayn around him and his helpless moans filling his ears. He slumps down on his elbows, just in time to not crush Zayn underneath him, and chokes out an uncontrollable groan, his hips moving on their own accord, roughly grinding against Zayn in a slowed down pace. He can hear Zayn still moaning softly at his ear and Harry presses his forehead against his temple, his mind completely blank and feeling the tremors all through his body, his hips still moving gently against Zayn's, making Zayn hiss and whimper at the sensory overload on his already sore and exhausted body and mind.

Harry mouths at Zayn's neck and cheek and Zayn turns towards him to let their lips meet in a lazy kiss, none of them having enough energy left to make it anything but a sloppy yet gentle touch of their mouths together, Zayn sucking on Harry's bottom lip for a second before letting his head fall back properly against the pillow with a sigh. He doesn't seem all that bothered with Harry still being inside him, looking comfortably sated, lying on the sheets with eyes half-closed, but Harry still pushes himself up, standing on his knees and pulling out, slowly so as not to disrupt Zayn too much. Zayn hisses on the last few inches before Harry slips out completely, and Harry lets his eyes linger on his red hole for a bit, feeling his cock give a helpless twitch and one last shiver run through his body before tearing his eyes away and looking back up at Zayn again.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Zayn breathes out, a laugh in his voice, and Harry waits just a second too long before forcing out his own laugh, feeling the tiredness in his bones start to settle in. Zayn's smile shrinks into a slight upturn of his lips and they just look at each other for a moment, before Harry leans in for another soft kiss. “I'll get you a towel,” Harry whispers as they pull apart an inch, and Zayn gives a heavy nod. Harry takes off the condom on his way out of the room, and throws it in the litter bin by the bed.

As he is holding the flannel under the warm water in the bathroom, he chances a glance up at himself in the mirror. His hair is in a complete disarray and Harry grins to himself, his gaze lowering and seeing the flush still apparent on his chest. It's fading, but Harry still raises his free hand to lay over his hot skin. It lands over his heart and Harry swallows, keeping his eyes on himself and feeling the strong thumping under his palm. Looking down at the now almost soaked flannel, he turns the tap off, and pointedly doesn't look back at his reflection before walking back into the bedroom.

Zayn is lying in the same position, his hands having fallen to his sides and his eyes closed. He looks so peaceful and content that Harry almost doesn't want to disturb him, but Zayn hears him as he gets back onto the bed, and greets him with a gentle smile. Harry smiles back and wipes up the traces of Zayn's climax off of his tummy, making Zayn squirm a bit and Harry chuckles lightly. He gets up to go and throw the flannel into the bathtub right away, a small voice in the back of his head telling him that it would be better than having to spot it on the floor after he's woken up later.

“I feel like I could sleep for like a year,” Zayn mumbles as Harry goes to lay down beside him on the bed. Harry moves to face Zayn, a small smile on his lips as he watches his profile, his eyes still closed shut and his chest moving slowly and calmly up and down. “I think you might have murdered me,” Zayn says and Harry can't help but blush as he giggles quietly, making Zayn grin. Zayn rolls over to face Harry, opening his eyes and watching him, looking infinitely sleepy and Harry grabs onto his hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

“Was that okay?” he asks softly, the look on Zayn's face making him want to bundle him up into blankets and stroke his hair until he falls asleep. There's nothing sexual behind the question, Harry realises as he asks it, just the blatant need to have it confirmed to him (despite how obvious it may be), that he made Zayn feel good. Zayn smiles crookedly and Harry bites his lip. “Was more than okay, babe. Thank you.”

The words make something in Harry freeze for just a moment, but he laughs at just the right place for it not to show on his face. “You're most welcome,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and feeling a sense of relief when Zayn laughs.

“Fuck, we have another early morning, don't we,” Zayn groans, rubbing his head against the pillow, and Harry nods gently.

“You can sleep on the bus later,” he says, his voice soft and soothing, and Zayn closes his eyes again. “I'll fend off the others for you.” Zayn breathes out a laugh through his nose.

“That sounds good,” he sighs, moving closer to Harry and pulling the hand he is still holding onto over his waist. Harry keeps his eyes on his face as Zayn throws his thigh over his hip, just like he'd done in the bunk, and Harry pulls him in again, a heel pressing gently into his leg. Zayn shuffles closer still, aiming to burrow his face in Harry's chest, giving Harry a head full of hair that tickles his nose and he instantly lays his cheek on the soft strands, willing his breathing to calm.

“G'night, babe,” Zayn murmurs, before going completely still.

“Night,” Harry whispers.

-

Harry hears Niall before he sees him. He's just managed to close the door to Zayn's hotel room almost completely soundlessly when he hears the clearing of a throat behind him. He flinches and whips around to see Niall standing a little further down the hall.

“You scared me,” he raises a hand to his chest. “What are you doing?” It slips out of him on pure instinct, because he's nervous, and because he feels like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Fact is, he kind of has.

Niall raises his eyebrows, coming up to him slowly. He's wearing sweats and looks very awake for the late hour. Or early, Harry isn't sure how long he was laying there next to Zayn, unable to sleep.

The buzzing of Zayn's phone on the floor had woken him up from his thoughts, making him tear his eyes away from where they had been resting on Zayn's sleeping face. Leaning over the bed, he'd been able to see the message.

_I know you're sleeping but I just wanted to tell u that I miss u. can't wait to see u when u get back! Xoxo_

He had found himself getting out of the bed and into his clothes before he could really think about what he was doing. They'd made it a point of not staying over in each other's rooms after Louis had mentioned going to knock at Zayn's door and not having him answer the morning after their first time, just a week before. It had been easy to just say that Zayn had stayed over at Harry's, they'd slept in the same bed together before, much to the other's knowledge, and Harry thinks Zayn managed to keep a cool face as he said it. But it had been enough for them to think about how reckless they had the possibility of acting, and how easy it would be for them to slip up if they weren't careful. Harry still isn't one hundred percent certain of why this thing between them needs to be kept a secret, and it doesn't, not really. But something inside him feels safer with it this way, when he doesn't need to think about anything but Zayn when they're together. When he can keep the safety of the bubble that appears when it's just the two of them, alone in a room, shutting the drapes on everything around them, and pretending that what they're doing never has to stop.

Harry should have told Zayn he was leaving, should have woken him up to say good-bye before he went. Should have gotten out of bed as soon as he'd wiped himself clean and told Zayn that he'd see him in the morning. But he didn't, and Zayn fell asleep almost instantly. And Harry lingered, for far too long. He'd payed for it as well, and now here he is, standing in the hallway looking like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and hoping that Niall won't ask what the hell he is up to himself.

“Was down at the gym for a moment,” Niall's voice is hushed despite the two of them being the only ones out here. Harry frowns, and Niall shrugs, looking like he knows exactly how ridiculous it sounds.

“I don't know, I couldn't sleep.” he says, before studying Harry for a moment. Harry nods, and puts his hands in his pockets. He's wearing his jeans still, and he puts all his effort into not biting his lip, or letting Niall know that he's nervous.

“You going out?” Niall asks, an incredulous look on his face. Harry shakes his head.

“I was,” he starts, keeping his voice calm and secure. “I was gonna ask Zayn if he wanted to come with me but, he was sleeping so. I got a kick in the balls instead,” Harry grins a crooked little smile. He's surprised by how easily the lie slips out, like it's nothing, so effortless that it almost throws him. Niall snickers.

“Fair play,” he says, moving towards his own room. “Going back to bed then? Got an early morning,” They give each other a look. When do they not?

Harry nods. “Yeah, I'll count some sheep or something,” Niall laughs quietly again, and Harry nods with a smile. “Good night,” he whispers, Niall waving at him in response, before Harry turns to walk in the opposite direction to his own room just down the hall. He focuses on the floor in front of him, and lets out a quiet breath as he unlocks his door.

He doesn't see the look of silent concern Niall gives his back before he shuts the door behind him.

 

 

Harry, Niall, Zayn and Liam manage to somehow pile together in the lift all at once the following morning.

Zayn would usually be straggling behind so Harry is surprised to see him coming down the hallway as they stand waiting for the lift. Niall and Liam are cheery enough for the early hour, Niall looking quite decent despite having been up in the middle of the night, and they indulge in some light conversation as they start the descent down to the lobby.

Harry stands leaning in the corner, his duffel bag at his feet, watching them discreetly while trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Zayn had caught his eye as he'd caught up with the three of them and Harry had managed a smile in hello, Zayn giving a happy one back, as happy as he could probably manage at this time of day. He's half-participating in the conversation now, giving a few grunts in reply and Harry huffs a quiet laugh, looking up and seeing Zayn's eyes already on him. There's a silent question in them and Harry's stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch, but he smiles nonetheless, ignoring the fact that Zayn is clearly trying to get some kind of real response out of him. He knows exactly why, and he doesn't want to think about it, so he just smiles, gives him a subtle wink and holds the eye-contact until a small smile breaks out on Zayn's face as well. It's secretive, and Harry wills himself not to blush. Instead he diverts his gaze, looking to the side into the mirror to fix his hair, and pointedly resists to glance at Zayn's reflection.

-

It feels like deja vu when Harry hears Zayn's soft voice from outside the curtains of the bunk. The roles are reversed now, and Harry takes a deep breath, getting ready to put on a relaxed face, and hope that the frown that's been on his face for the past half-hour hasn't become permanent. He opens the curtains.

Zayn is holding onto the bunk above, leaning down with a small smile, blinking his big eyes at him, and Harry instantly feels himself start to give in. To what, he isn't sure.

“Can I join you?” his voice is so casual that Harry can't do anything but scoot over, staying on his back. He doesn't particularly want to do anything else.

Zayn climbs into the bunk, getting comfortable and immediately laying an arm across Harry's waist. His thumb starts to rub at Harry's side through his shirt and Harry chances a glance down. He moves a hand to lay over Zayn's forearm and Zayn's thumb stills.

“You okay?” his voice is hushed, and Harry closes his eyes for a second. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says in the same tone. “Just tired.”

“You sure?” Zayn asks after a couple of seconds' silence.

Harry forces himself to turn to his right and face him. It's a bad decision.

He nods again. “Yeah.” he whispers.

Zayn smiles gently at him, moving his hand up to stroke Harry's fringe away from his forehead.

“Good.” he whispers back simply, and Harry closes his eyes at the feeling of Zayn's hand in his hair. “You wanna come to mine after the show?” Zayn whispers just loudly enough for Harry to hear it in the tiny space. Harry's heart inadvertently starts to beat harder and he's glad that Zayn's hand is still on his head. He looks back up at him.

“Maybe. I'm exhausted.”

He manages to make it sound casual, probably with the aid of his whispering voice, being able to be interpreted as a sign of fatigue. And Harry is tired, he's so fucking tired. But he doesn't think his voice would carry his words without wobbling dangerously if he were to dare change his tone.

Zayn is still smiling at him, as if he's something precious. A small child, or a cute little animal. Harry closes his eyes again.

“That's okay. You can sleep now,” he hears Zayn say, and he nods. He lets Zayn keep carding his fingers through his hair for a moment before he rolls over to face the wall. Zayn follows him, putting his hand over his waist and Harry feels his slow breathing against the back of his neck.

He falls asleep with a lump in his throat, threatening to break free.

 

 

When he wakes up, his throat feels sore. When he wakes up, Zayn is gone.

-

Harry manages to avoid Zayn until they're all gathered in the dressing room before the show. He'd given him a smile as he joined the others at the front of the bus as they arrived at the venue, before throwing an arm around Niall's shoulders and jokingly pulling him away and towards the arena, not giving a second glance back. As he now sits fiddling with his phone on a sofa in the corner of the decently sized room, he notices the smell of Zayn's cologne before he looks up to catch a glimpse of his face. Zayn throws an arm over the back of the sofa behind Harry's head the minute he sits down. Niall is getting his hair done and Liam and Louis are playing some game on one of their phones, yelling excitedly and making Lou roll her eyes, so Zayn dares to lean into Harry on the sofa, his knuckles coming up to stroke at the back of Harry's shoulder.

“Have a good sleep?” he says quietly and Harry nods, throwing a smile his way before turning back to his phone, opening up a game of his own and hoping Zayn won't catch up on how he's blatantly trying to ignore him. “Just let me know how you're feeling after the show, yeah?” Zayn manages to get in before Niall yells at him from in front of the mirror.

“Zed, it's the missus!” He's holding Zayn's phone over his head, still facing the mirror, and Zayn immediately gets up to grab it, excusing himself and leaving the room to answer the call. Harry quickly faces back down again, having watched the whole exchange. This time, he doesn't miss Niall's solemn look through the mirror.

 

 

When Zayn comes up to talk to him as the bus stops back at the hotel, Harry has already sent a text to Niall, deciding to have a movie night with a couple of beers up in his room, and he turns to face Zayn when he puts a hand on his back. They're the only ones already standing outside the bus, Harry having been ready to get out as soon as he could, and Zayn rushing after him, still with his bag laying inside.

“You alright, babe?”

Harry clenches his jaw for just a second. It's dark outside, but judging by the crease between Zayn's brows, he catches it. Harry nods still.

“Yeah, I'm good,” he smiles calmly. Zayn nods, still looking a bit concerned, but he seems to shake it off, as he steps the tiniest bit closer, and moves his hand from Harry's back to trail down his arm, his fingers gently gripping Harry's where his hand hangs freely by his side, like the most riskful invitation, and Harry curses inwardly. Zayn strokes his thumb gently over Harry's knuckles, playing with his fingers, and Harry keeps his gaze on him, Zayn not breaking it either. A small smile falls onto Zayn's face, playful and just a tad hopeful. Harry bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, you coming?” Zayn asks softly, biting his lip down on a tiny smile at his choice of words, expecting Harry to grin back at him. And he does for a second, before he reminds himself of what he's trying to do. He moves his hand so he's holding onto Zayn and not the other way around, and lets himself rub his own thumb against Zayn's skin, his touch featherlight, and Zayn's eyes watch him fondly.

“I'm still quite tired,” Harry says, looking back up at Zayn, whose smile has faltered in an instant. Harry keeps going. “Think I might just... just have a proper rest. Try and catch up on some sleep.” His voice sounds like a question, and Harry hates himself for it. He watches Zayn intently, searching his face for all and any signs possible. Zayn seems to catch himself before nodding quickly, his eyes wide and the smile returning to his lips. It's more tight-lipped this time, and Harry holds his breath.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, sounding like he genuinely gets it. He doesn't look angry, he doesn't sound it. Quite on the contrary, Zayn suddenly looks like he wants to stroke Harry's hair again, and put him to sleep himself. Harry feels that same lump rising in his throat. “Want me to keep you company?”

His tone is so pure, and Harry doesn't know what to say. For a moment, he doesn't know anything at all.

A noise is heard from the front of the bus, and the three other boys all come falling out, Paul following after them. Harry pulls his hand away from Zayn's as quickly and discreetly as he can, taking half a step away. Liam has got Niall in a headlock and fortunately, it keeps most of the attention on them.

“Get off!” Niall yells, and Liam lets him go, him and Louis cackling wildly and Niall directs a very half-hearted punch Liam's way, that he easily dodges before pulling Niall in for a bear hug. “Get off, you fucking weirdo!” Niall is laughing now and he pulls himself free yet again, running a hand through his hair to fix it before turning to Harry and Zayn who have been watching in silence.

“You ready, Harry? I'm dying for a beer, come one,” He says, starting to walk backwards slowly, Paul also waiting for Harry to follow.

Harry swallows and feels his face starting to heat up. He doesn't get the chance to answer before Louis pipes up, a backpack slung across his shoulders as he stands next to Liam. He's got Zayn's in his other hand, holding it up to him in question.

“Bus one, Zayn? Liam's coming too,” he looks at Zayn expectantly. Zayn doesn't answer and Harry makes the stupid mistake of looking to his side to face him. Zayn has a blank look on his face, and if Harry didn't know him he'd think he looked unbothered. But his eyes betray him, and Harry tries not to feel like the fucking idiot that he is as he sees the disappointment, the confusion and the hint of hurt in them. He can't speak, but Zayn does it for him.

“Yeah,” his eyes are still on Harry's, and Harry can't look away. “Definitely.”

He turns away without another word, nodding to Niall and taking his backpack from Louis before pushing Liam in front of him in a joking manner, making him chase after him, Paul following them intently with his eyes as they head for the other bus. Louis stays standing there, and Harry can feel him watching him from the corner of his eye, as he stands staring into the ground where Zayn was stood just a second ago.

“Right, night, lads.” Louis says, and Harry can hear the slight worry in his voice, but he just throws a quick smile in his direction, not meeting his eyes, still rooted to the spot. He hears Louis leave, but he still can't move. He just can't.

“Harry,” Niall's tone is sharp, but not unkind, and Harry flinches awake, looking up at him immediately. “Come on,” Niall says, nodding his head towards the hotel, and Harry feels himself nodding and walking towards him, Paul's hand heavy on his back. It falls off as he reaches Niall, and Niall wraps an arm around his waist.

“Bridesmaids or The Hangover? Your pick.” Niall says in a calm and casual voice, his hand a firm anchor around Harry. Harry can't help the smile that breaks out on his face, and he feels so infinitely thankful that he lets a laugh out along with it. He doesn't bother to think about the way Niall must be wanting to ask him so many questions, the way he knows that he isn't being as subtle as he would wish. The way he probably hasn't been for a while. He can't be bothered to think about it, instead he just starts up a conversation like it's nothing, like his stomach doesn't feel like it's about to eat itself up from the inside.

 

 

He doesn't cry that night, as he's going to bed. He doesn't cry, but it's the first time that he feels like he easily could.

-

“You know you could've told me if you didn't wanna do this anymore,” Zayn's voice is quiet, but crystal clear. “You could've just told me.”

It's been two days since Harry made the stupid mistake of trying to lie to Zayn so that he wouldn't have to be alone with him. Or, it wasn't a mistake exactly, because he doesn't regret doing it. He had to, he just wishes that he hadn't been caught out. The look on Zayn's face had been soul-crushing, the way Harry could see so clearly how his lie had made him feel. Harry had very unwillingly been made to sit front row to watch Zayn realise that he wasn't wanted, and it made him feel sick at just the memory of it. But it's not like it wasn't mutual. It's not like Zayn hadn't already made his own choice and kept Harry pushed to the side in favour of something more important, something more valuable and desirable. Harry doesn't regret it.

It doesn't make the look on Zayn's face any easier to deal with once he has turned around in the dressing room to face him.

It's a new show, a new city, and two days since they've had a proper conversation. The other boys must be noticing the change, there's really not a lot the five of them can hide from each other, which makes Zayn and Harry's situation that much more of a big deal. It is a big deal. Harry is just coming to realise that he never should have let it become one. But it's his own fault that they're standing here now, alone in the dressing room with a tangible tension in the air between them. He should have known better, and he did, he does. It was just so hard to resist. Zayn was. But this is where it stops. This is where it has to stop.

“Sorry,” he simply says. He perches awkwardly on the armrest of the sofa standing behind him, like his body is telling him that he needs to sit down for this. There's no point in trying to keep tip-toeing around the subject, trying to act like everything is fine, when Harry hasn't felt fine in weeks. “You're right, I should have.”

The look that falls across Zayn's face tells Harry two things. That he wasn't expecting Harry to actually confirm his worries. And that Harry never wants to be the reason for Zayn looking like this ever again. But he also doesn't understand it, because Zayn must have known himself that this couldn't go on forever. They're going home soon for the premiere. It's time now, and for Harry's own self-preservation, he had to be the one to bring it up first. He doesn't want to think too hard about why that is, but everything in him is telling him that this is what's best. For him, and hopefully for Zayn himself. He might have forgotten for a while about what's waiting for him at home, but Harry hasn't. The constant phonecalls and texts have made sure of that, and Harry is grateful for it, a constant reminder of the dreamlike state they have both been in, and how it's not rooted in anything real. It's for the best. It's not a big deal.

Zayn looks at him for a second too long, before nodding, his eyes drifting down to somewhere around Harry's kneecaps before he faces him again. “You should have,” he says, and Harry nods back.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, but Zayn doesn't answer, seeming to be waiting for Harry to continue, so he does. “I just thought that...” Harry starts. He has to say this now, he has to. “I just thought that, we're going home soon, aren't we. It might be good to try and get some semblance of normality back before we leave. Give us both a chance to get back into the swing of things. You especially.”

He's kept his eyes on his hands fiddling with his rings in front of him, resting gently against his thighs, only glancing up hastily at Zayn as he's talking, but now he faces him fully. Zayn is staring at him, and Harry feels so uncomfortable that he'd be leaving the room right about now, if he didn't have any respect left for Zayn at all.

“Right,” Zayn says. He nods again, to himself more than anything, and pauses. He looks frozen in place and Harry needs to fill the silence somehow.

“Just, you know, it just seems a bit silly to go sneaking in and out of hotel rooms at this point, don't you think?” Zayn doesn't say anything, he just looks at Harry with a blank expression. “It's been fun and all... but. Maybe it's time to grow up now.”

Harry doesn't know what the hell he's saying, the words just keep coming by their own accord. He keeps his eyes on Zayn's trying his best to not look like he's struggling in any kind of way, or that his words don't hold even the slightest bit of meaning. It's a bunch of bullshit, but it's out there now, and Harry can't take it back. He doesn't mean to.

That same blank look lingers on Zayn's face for a moment, before he tilts his head and looks at the floor. A small smile falls to his lips, and Harry holds his breath. The smile stays as he looks back up at Harry, but Harry sees little to no real happiness in his eyes. He looks resigned, and something else that Harry can't put his finger on. Zayn nods to himself, almost as if he's trying to convince himself of something.

“You're right,” he says, and Harry sees him biting the inside of his lip, the smile having faded now. “It was silly.”

Harry catches the little shake of Zayn's head before he comes up to him. Zayn puts a hand on his shoulder, and leans in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, and Harry tries to calm his violently beating heart. Zayn pulls back, the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly. He doesn't look angry, a bit tired maybe, but not angry, and Harry feels something in him relax just a tiny bit. Zayn lifts his hand to gently stroke the back of his fingers against Harry's cheek. Harry stares at him, and Zayn stares right back.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Zayn clenches his jaw for a brief second and Harry just keeps breathing.

“You're welcome,” he gets out, in the most casual voice he can muster up. “Sorry, again.”

He really does mean it. Zayn shakes his head shortly.

“It's okay,” he says. “I...” Harry waits. “I wasn't thinking.”

He drops his hand from Harry's cheek and Harry watches it as it falls to his side.

“Wanna see what the other boys are doing?” Zayn asks, taking a small step back and letting out a slight breath. A casualness is back on his face and Harry nods before he can think. “Come on,” Zayn smiles, and goes to lead the way out. Harry follows, completely ignoring the shivers still rising all over the back of his neck.

-

When Zayn and Louis come back from the tattoo place a week later and Zayn shows off the big new piece on his right bicep, Harry just compliments him on the nice work. Zayn says a polite thank you, and then that's that.

-

In the end, it's Louis who texts him on the night before the first day of promo in London. There's nothing that Harry could have possibly done to prepare himself for what the message would say and how it would make him feel, but he would have at least appreciated to have been sitting down for it. Like some poor person receiving news about their family member passing. It's ridiculous, but it doesn't stop it from happening.

His phone is lying on the coffee table as he walks into the livingroom, hearing it buzz. He taps on the message before he can properly read it. And then there it is.

_Zayn and perrie got engaged man ! He just texted me about it, he's in the car now but he said i should let you know :)_

Harry stares at the words as he stands there, with his phone in both hands. He stares, frozen in time and place, until the letters become a blur and all Harry can feel is his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces. This is what it feels like. This is what it feels like when everything suddenly falls apart, and all you're left with is the broken remains of your life, laying in a pile on the floor by your feet. No warning, no nothing.

He doesn't cry then either. The shock is probably too much to deal with. He doesn't remember texting Louis back but he must have, because he gets another text (' _I know it's crazy ! See you tomorrow mate!_ '), the phone buzzing in his hand and Harry lets his eyes fly over it before he locks his phone and tosses it onto the sofa.

-

“I need to wee, I'll be right back,” Harry says almost immediately as they've gotten into the theater. He feels like he might need just a minute to cool down for a bit, along with having a full bladder from all the water he'd been downing before arriving at the premiere. The last thing anyone would want would be a blacked out band member falling into a pile on the red carpet. He might have been psyching himself up a little bit, but he'd had a lot of things to feel nervous about.

Not only the nerves of the premiere and hoping that he wouldn't fall over as he got out of the car, but the knowledge of who he was supposed to be glued to once he stepped out there. He had already congratulated Zayn on the engagement the day before as they were called in to do interviews, and it had been fine. He had seemed fine, at least, which is all that really mattered at this point. But he'd put his game face on, which is what he's had to do today as well. He'd done very well so far, thanks to some incredible magical reason that had seemed to flip a switch on in his head as soon as he layed eyes on the other boys the following morning. _This is a good day, this is an exciting day_ , he had chanted to himself internally, even though the first sight of Zayn had made the most horrible and unpleasant shivers rise along his back. A smile was firmly plastered on his face for the whole day, and that had been that. He had gone home that evening, mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted, but it had been worth it, to keep seeing the calm and happiness in Zayn's eyes, like nothing had changed. It hurt, it really fucking did, but it wasn't time. This was not about Harry and he made himself realise that. After that was done, it was just a matter of powering through.

“Yeah, me too,” He hears Zayn say, and throws a look over his shoulder to see him follow after him. He catches up with Harry and puts a gentle hand on his back, giving him a smile and Harry smiles back as they walk towards the toilets. He's still in the mindset from the red carpet, from seeing all the people and the cameras and from keeping his game face on that it's still on as he looks at Zayn now. He must really be an amazing actor because the smile on his face feels like nothing, and judging by the casualness of Zayn's face and body-language, he doesn't notice. There's nothing behind it, nothing at all. No happiness, no pain, no nothing. It's just there, because it needs to be, and Harry deftly tries to force some thought or emotion, anything, into his blank mind.

It comes to him when he's stepping out of the toilet cubicle and sees Zayn stand by the mirror, touching his hair gently and straightening out his clothes.

Everything comes to him at once and he freezes. Zayn looks at him through the mirror and Harry really wishes that he could move, and he can, he will, but seeing Zayn standing there, in just the same way as he had been standing in front of the mirror in the toilets at the hotel in Verona what seems like a lifetime ago. Harry stops for a second too long and Zayn notices then.

Harry forces his legs to move and goes over to the sinks to wash his hands. He doesn't say anything, just focuses on what he's doing because he needs a minute, he just needs a minute to compose himself and it doesn't matter that Zayn is staring at him and that the tension in the room is slowly but surely becoming apparent. He needs just a moment, and then he'll be fine.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks as Harry reaches for some tissue paper to dry his hands with. He throws them away in the bin before turning to him.

“Yeah. You?”

Zayn nods slowly. “Yeah, I'm good.” he pauses. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you in person. About the engagement,” he adds, his voice going up slightly at the end and making it sound almost like a question. Harry opens his mouth to speak but Zayn beats him to it.

“I did the same with everyone, it wasn't just you, I just... I just wanted to tell you all as soon as it happened, I guess. Got a bit excited.” he laughs shortly, a small shrug to his shoulders, and Harry links his hands together behind his back. Zayn watches his movements and bites his lips. “I just- yeah, just wanted to make sure you didn't think it was just you, because it wasn't. “ he's almost babbling, but Harry is too in his head to barely notice.

“It's okay,” he says, a tight-lipped smile falling onto his lips, and Zayn raises his eyebrows slightly like he's still a bit unsure. Harry shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. What is any of this even for. It's over.

“Congratulations, mate,” he breathes out, a smile on his face, and pulls Zayn into a hug that he must not be prepared for because it takes a bare second for him to wrap his arms around Harry tightly.

“Thank you, babe,” Harry hears Zayn's slightly muffled voice, the smile on his lips apparent even though he can't see it, and he closes his eyes tightly before pulling away, the happy look back in an instant.

“You're gonna make her so happy,” he says, and Zayn grins crookedly.

“I hope so,” he shrugs again. He looks down for a moment and Harry keeps his eyes on him. “ _I'm_ happy.” Zayn says, facing him again. His face looks calm, but there's a seriousness in there and Harry nods.

“Good.”

Zayn smiles again. They keep their stares for a moment until Harry has to break his and look down at his watch.

“They must think we've shat our pants, let's go,” he mumbles, a hand on Zayn's arm to lead him out, and Zayn laughs, making Harry smile. It's completely genuine this time. It's no big deal.

-

Harry is sitting at Nick's kitchen island, the day after the premiere, watching him stirring the pot by the stove. He had offered to help but Nick had shooed him away and poured him a glass of wine instead, and so Harry is reduced to just watch Nick do the cooking, and offer some comments that only make Nick shush him, Harry snickering every time.

“Still tired?” Nick says as he turns around, taking his own glass of wine with him to the kitchen island to chop some lettuce and cucumber, letting the curry simmer on the low heat.

Harry has his head resting in one palm and nods as he watches Nick cut the vegetables. “Feels like I'll be tired for the rest of my life,” he mutters, and Nick chuckles.

“Drink more,” he says and Harry smiles, taking another sip of his red wine. They're silent for a bit, Nick whistling a made up melody and Harry watching him work, his hands resting on the foot of his wineglass.

“I wasn't being careful.”

It slips out out of nowhere and Nick's whistling stops, along with his chopping. It's almost like Harry hears himself saying it without having any control of what is happening, but now that it's out there it's so easy to continue.

“You told me to be careful because someone might get hurt, and I wasn't careful. And the one who got hurt,” Harry swallows heavily, still looking at where Nick's hands are completely still on the countertop. “It was me.”

He can hear himself breathing, deceivingly slowly and calmly. The curry keeps simmering like a white noise in the background and Harry dares to look up at Nick. He can feel the absolute emptiness on his own face, but he's too tired. He's just too tired.

Nick is staring at him, slowly searching his face. He looks sad, and Harry can feel a prickling sensation in his throat. No. Please, no. He clenches his jaw.

“You love him.”

Nick says it so simply, so calmly. No names have been mentioned, not by Harry, not by Nick. No names have ever been mentioned but Harry realises now that it was never needed because Nick knows. He just knows. He doesn't sound surprised, and he doesn't look it either. He just says it like a confirmation, so easily, like it's obvious. And all of a sudden, it is.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. It's like the plug being pulled in a bathtub, and everything is just falling out of him in one single hopeless sigh, and Harry wants to scream at himself for being so utterly blind. “I do.”

He feels it then. For the first time, he feels it. The tears running down his cheeks, and he has just enough time to feel Nick's hand on his shoulder before he is pushing the glass away and laying his forehead on his hands on the counter, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking.

He feels like an idiot. For crying in the middle of Nick's kitchen on a sunny Friday afternoon. For lying to himself for what he realises must have been not only weeks, months, but years. For not letting himself realise sooner. And for allowing himself to fall into this shit in the first place. This absolute pile of shit. It doesn't feel like love. His first real and proper experience of the emotion enveloping him completely and so mercilessly, settling itself without warning in every core of his body and mind. It feels like shit. And Harry is an idiot.

 

-

 

It's a scorching hot day in Chicago, something Harry really should have taken into consideration when he decided it might be a good idea to bring his running gear and take a couple of laps around the arena. He's managed two before it gets way too much, feeling the sweat dripping down his back and into his shorts. He always did sweat an awful lot, he thinks distractedly as he walks down the steps of the stands, wiping his face with his shirt and panting heavily.

“Hey,” a voice calls out and Harry's heart jumps. He stops in his steps and lowers the shirt to check where the voice is coming from, seeing Zayn sit a couple of rows down, turned around in his seat and gesturing for Harry to come over. He slumps down the rest of the steps and advances towards Zayn sitting a couple of seats into the row.

“Here,” Zayn says, grabbing a bottle of water from his other side and holding it out to Harry who accepts it eagerly.

“Thanks,” he pants before chugging half of it in one go. Zayn is watching him with an amused smile, snapback on his head and wearing a tank top that reveals all the tattoos on his arms and shoulders. Even the fantail at the back of his neck is visible, Harry notices as he sits down beside him. That was always his favourite. He wipes his face again.

“You stink,” Zayn comments and Harry laughs out. “You love it,” he breathes, putting his feet up on the back of the seats in front of them and leaning back, sighing heavily and looking out at the arena where the lights are still being tested. He sees Zayn shake his head in the corner of his eye but Harry doesn't bother to keep the banter going, way too tired and hot to be able to do much but breathe heavily to try and get the oxygen he needs.

“I heard your song yesterday, by the way,” Zayn says out of nowhere and Harry's ears perk up. “Or well, Ariana's song, I guess.” he goes on, and Harry hums in recognition.

“Where did you hear it, the radio?” he asks curiously, looking down at where he's scraping distractedly at the label on the bottle. The song has only been out for a few days so Harry'd be pleasantly surprised if it's already getting spins.

Zayn shakes his head again and moves a hand up to scratch at his opposing shoulderblade. “Nah, I checked it out on Youtube,” he says, and Harry can hear the self-consciousness in his voice. He surpresses a smile and just nods in acknowledgment. The fact that the subject of the song is sitting right here next to him is still a very surreal thought. He lets it pass through as usual. It is what it is.

At first he felt exposed when letting people hear the songs he wrote himself. Based on his own experiences and emotions. It's so personal, and Harry felt scared that he might be giving himself away. And then he'd started to wonder if that wasn't what he wanted in the first place. It's not. That's not what this is about, and the thought of Zayn figuring it out scares him enough to push that theory aside, a silent reminder to keep his leather bound journal in a safe place at all times. It's not what he wants. He's pretty sure of it. It's not like it would make any difference anyway. People take inspiration from their personal life all the time, so why shouldn't Harry?

They're just songs anyway. They don't really mean anything. So long as someone likes the music, that will have to be enough. And if Zayn never does figure it out, well then, Harry's safe.

“Did you like it?” Harry asks bluntly. Might as well.

“I did, yeah. Of course. It's really lovely, and she sounds amazing obviously,” Zayn says and Harry smiles in response. “But then again, your songs were always my favourites. Don't tell anyone I said that,” Zayn adds, giving a little laugh.

Harry can feel his face start to heat up. It's a good thing it's boiling outside or he would have definitely been caught out. Maybe he does care a little bit.

“Nothing wrong with having great taste,” he says instead and takes another gulp of the water, and Zayn chuckles. “Guess I just know what you like."

It's just a flippant comment, really. They've kept up their jokingly flirty banter on stage, and it's no big deal. What Harry has learnt in the past year is how to master the fine art of self-preservation, properly. He thought he was doing everything that he could before everything went to shit, but he knows now that that was all just a fucking lie that he told himself so he wouldn't feel guilty for purposely yet subconsciously making himself feel like crap. There are ways to avoid feeling like that, and he knows that now. Either you put yourself in a situation where you might get burnt, or you don't. It really is that simple, it just took him a while to get it. He doesn't cry anymore. He doesn't spend hours before falling asleep going through the scenarios in his head, how he could have made things different, how he could have made things better. There's no point. This is his life and he's gonna live it to the best of his abilities. There's no point in dwelling on shit that already happened. Shit that will stay the way they are regardless of what he would wish for. Wishing is dangerous, and it only ends in pain.

Harry found his off switch somewhere along the way. He's not deliberately trying to act like an emotionless git, and he isn't. He's essentially just the same as he's always been. But that voice in the back of his head has been silenced. It's taken both effort and time, but it's been worth it. For his sanity, for the future of the group. For the way he doesn't have to feel his heart shatter to pieces over and over again everytime he sees the smile on Zayn's face when he gets those phonecalls. Zayn doesn't care, so Harry doesn't either. He can't. So he won't.

“I guess you do,” Zayn says softly, giving Harry a small smile as he turns to look at him, still with water in his mouth. Some days it takes more effort. Some days his self-control is truly tested to its full max. Some days the sun shines brightly into Zayn's eyes and Harry needs to turn away to avoid getting blinded, forcibly telling the hummingbirds laying to rest in his chest to stay down. Some days he does need a minute, just a mere minute to himself, to not let any stupid memories clog up his brain and latch its ugly claws into his mind.

Some days are harder than others. But it doesn't change anything, Harry always reminds himself. It doesn't mean anything.

Harry winks at Zayn and swallows his mouthful.

 

-

 

_Can I come over??_

Harry's just about gotten into his room when the text pops up on his phone screen. He's just had a bit of a struggle trying to get the damn thing out of his back pocket and is just about to throw it on the bed when it buzzes in his hand. It takes him a good two seconds to realise who it's from, Zayn's name lighting up the screen, but it's still dark in the room, the light is bright and Harry may or may not have downed one too many shots before leaving the hotel bar and the rest of the crew that he had been with. The other boys had all disappeared to their rooms, Harry heading straight for the bar as they all got in after the show. He needed something, something to dull the incoming emotions but as he now looks at Zayn's message, he realises that it might have been the wrong way to go.

_Absolutely x_

He types with one hand as he sits down to kick off his boots. It takes a bit more effort than usual but Harry sighs when they're both off, stretching his feet and bending his ankles this and that way to try and get the slight ache out of his bones. I'm getting too old for this, he thinks and snickers to himself. He looks down at the phone in his hand, remembering that Zayn is about to come over and he throws it on the bed before getting up with a groan, going into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He'd been very good today, very, very good, and only spoken to Zayn when spoken to himself. It's worth the weird looks that he notices from Zayn, to which he just smiles at before walking away to distract himself with something else. He'd rather be a weirdo and a prick than put himself in an unnecessarily tempting situation. It feels like being in fucking rehab sometimes, living in complete abstinence, not having to worry about falling down the rabbit hole because the barrier that's been put up is much too strong. But sometimes that little fucking rabbit comes creeping through a gap in the fence and Harry just has to do the best he can to stand as still as possible until it sneaks out again. He should have built that sodding wall with bricks instead of wires.

All of this is running through his head as he stands staring into the mirror, brushing his teeth and holding onto the sink with one hand. Fuck Dan for giving him a double of that last one. He spits out the toothpaste and wipes his mouth on a towel hanging under the sink, throwing it carelessly onto the floor behind him when he's done. Running a hand through his hair he takes a large breath before opening his eyes and looking at himself. Staring into his own eyes with a drunken intensity he shakes his head slowly but firmly.

“No,” he says, his voice low and clear as day. As soon as he's said it he raises a hand to gently slap at his face, a slight laugh slipping out. If the guys could see him now. He shakes his head to himself and his ridiculousness, dragging the hand down his cheek with a smile on his face.

“Oh god,” he mutters and picks the towel up from the floor, hanging it haphazardly over the edge of the bathtub instead. He walks out and slumps down on the side of the bed, reaching for his bottle of water on the nightstand and takes a few large gulps. He feels okay, but the knock on the door still startles him, having forgotten for a moment what he was even brushing his teeth for in the first place. He looks at the door and then back at the bathroom, feeling almost betrayed by himself before quickly getting up to let Zayn in.

He's wearing tracksuit bottoms and a plain black tee, different from the white one he had had on during the show. Both colours compliment him nicely, but then again, Zayn never really needed clothes to make him any prettier than he already is. Harry clears his throat to distract himself from the way that thought was inadvertently heading, and grins instead, seeing as he has been staring for a little while longer than normal. He blames the tequila shots.

“Is it okay if I come in?” Zayn says, still waiting outside the threshold for Harry to show him inside.

“Yeah, 'course,” Harry steps aside and closes the door behind Zayn. Zayn walks further into the room, fiddling with the phone he's holding in his hands. He always was a bit of a fiddler. Zayn looks at Harry expectantly and Harry raises his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks dumbly, having missed what Zayn was saying due to his wandering thoughts of irrelevancy.

Zayn chuckles lightly. “I said 'did you have fun at the bar'?” By the look on his face he already seems to know the answer.

“Yeah, it was alright,” Harry shrugs, going over to sit at the end of the bed. He's exhausted all of a sudden, but he doesn't want Zayn to leave either. “Think I had one too many but, we're off tomorrow so who cares,” he shrugs, and Zayn smiles, a twitch of the lips that lasts for only a bare second before his face turns solemn again, and he looks down at the floor, standing in front of Harry by the bed.

“I'm happy to hang out though, if you want,” Harry adds, taking Zayn's silence as a sign of being rejected. “Could you not sleep?” he asks, running a lazy hand through his hair before disguising a burp as a cough, lifting his fist to his mouth and grinning as Zayn snorts out a laugh. Harry slaps the spot next to him. “Sit.”

As soon as Zayn is sitting down beside him, the whole situation properly registers in Harry's mind. He's reasonably drunk still, Zayn is here, in his room, on his bed. And they're alone. Like this, for the first time in over a year. All of it should make multiple sirens blare inside his head, but his ears must just be too clogged to hear them. Again, Harry blames the tequila.

“I, uh... I'm sorry, I must smell,” he says instead, a small laughter accompanying the words.

“Nah, you're good,” Zayn says, before leaning slightly closer to Harry to put his phone in his pocket. Harry can feel how his eyes are hooded, and he keeps them firmly fixed on Zayn's face throughout the movement.

“Good,” he says firmly, a joking smile on his face. “You too.”

Zayn lets out a small breath of a laugh and Harry smiles at the sound.

“You should have come down with us, had a glass,” he says, watching Zayn pick at his cuticles. There are no rings on his fingers. It's a bit of a rarity to see nowadays and Harry finds himself removing one of his own rings and grabbing Zayn's left hand, making Zayn stop what he's doing, letting his eyes follow Harry's movements. He pushes the ring onto Zayn's ring finger and smiles when it's on.

“It suits you,” he says, looking back up at Zayn's face. Zayn is watching the ring, and the way Harry still hasn't let go of his hand. Harry keeps his eyes on Zayn, feeling his thumb start to slowly rub along Zayn's knuckles. A glimpse of a white bunny tail flashes through his mind. He keeps rubbing.

“I was talking to Jawaad,” Zayn says, ignoring Harry's words, but letting him keep stroking his hand. Harry feels something awaken inside of him, and he sees himself walking towards the gate of the imaginary fence. Zayn huffs out heavily and Harry furrows his brows.

“Are you tired?” he asks, looking Zayn over and laying his hand in his, using the other to fully stroke over Zayn's in slow circular movements. Zayn breathes out again, a twisted smile on his lips before his face falls.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes on their hands still.

“You wanna stay here tonight?” Harry's voice is a mere whisper. Their heads have moved closer together as they've been sitting there, Harry notices, when Zayn looks up at him. He does look exhausted. And defeated almost. Harry wants to make it better, in the only way that he can. In the only way that he wants to. Zayn keeps his eyes on him as Harry lifts Zayn's hand to his lips and kisses it gently. “You can stay here tonight,” Harry continues, Zayn's knuckles still just grazing his lips, Harry's other hand moving to stroke down Zayn's arm. “I'll take care of you.” His eyes are firmly fixed on Zayn's, looking for a reaction.

Zayn doesn't say anything, his gaze moving down to watch Harry's hand stroke gently over his skin. Harry sees him take a breath and close his eyes.

“Zayn?” he says softly.

“Harry, I'm leaving.”

The look in Zayn's eyes is one that Harry has never seen before. It's unsettling, and Harry feels an uneasy feeling rapidly spreading through his stomach.

“You wanna go back to your room?” he hears the hesitance in his voice, his hand having stopped its movements on Zayn's skin.

Zayn shakes his head, his eyes locked on Harry's.

“I wanna go home.”

His eyes show no hint of anything humorous, there's no hidden spark in the corners of them. There's no spark at all. Harry furrows his brows.

“What do you mean?”

He's holding Zayn's hand against his chest now, pressing it against himself and Zayn takes one last look before facing Harry again.

“I'm going home. That's what I came here to tell you.” he gently breaks his hand free from Harry's, moving it down to rest in his lap. Harry mimics him.

“Well,” he starts, trying to make sense of it all. “When will you be back?”

Zayn clenches his jaw for a second.

“I'm not coming back.”

Harry can hear the distant ringing in his ears as everything stills. “What?”

Zayn gets off the bed and Harry's first instinct is to rush to stand in his way, the door behind him and Zayn standing still by the bed.

“What do you mean? Where are you going?” he can feel his heart start to beat faster again, but this time, it's not as pleasant. He doesn't understand, and Zayn is not going anywhere until he does.

“Home. I'm going home,” Zayn still looks knackered but he's standing up straight now, and Harry can see the determination in his eyes. This is all wrong. Zayn is not supposed to look like that while saying those words, it's all so wrong.

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice suddenly having raised in volume.

“Because I don't wanna be here anymore,” Zayn's voice is matching his now, he means what he's saying, it's very clear, and Harry doesn't understand a single thing.

“What's wrong with here?”

“Everything!”

Harry flinches back. Zayn isn't exactly yelling, but the force of his voice and the meaning behind it, it's like a slap in the face. Just that one word seems to have been all that it takes for Zayn to let everything go.

“Everything is wrong,” he says, a wild look in his eyes, and Harry can do nothing but listen and wait for him to speak. “Everything has been wrong, and I can't- I can't do it anymore. I can't. I won't.”

He's still not making a lot of sense but it's enough for Harry to know that he's serious.

“You're being serious?”

Zayn stays staring at Harry. He doesn't show even a tiny sign that would indicate that he's nothing but, and Harry's not exactly asking so much as he's trying to come to terms with it all in his own fogged up head.

“Do I look like I'm joking, Harry?” Zayn shrugs, shaking his head. Harry can see it in his eyes, he can see how tired he is. He's been seeing it for a long time now, he realises. He doesn't know why he's so surprised. He must have seen it coming. But like with everything else regarding the man standing in front of him, he blocked it out. He blocked it all out, and now here they are.

“What do you want me to do?” It's the first thing he can think of saying. Zayn is leaving. So Harry needs to do something. To make him not. The best way to know is to ask. Simple as.

“What?” Zayn furrows his eyebrows. He's still half in fight-mode, but he also really just looks like he wants to go to sleep. Not yet, not until Harry knows exactly what is happening, what will happen if he doesn't play his cards right, now then it truly matters. He might be cutting it short but Zayn is still here. He's still here in his room, and that's what counts.

“What should I do, like, what do you need?” he can feel himself getting frantic but he can't stop himself. “What do you need to make this go away?” There has to be something. There has to be a reason for Zayn's thoughts and Harry is gonna find out what it is and he's gonna make it so it's not a reason anymore. He just needs to know what and where to start.

Zayn sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He looks exhausted, and all Harry wants is to pull him into bed and let them both sleep off whatever they may need to, whatever is making all of this the terrible and frightening situation that it is. Zayn shakes his head.

“Harry-” he starts, but all of a sudden Harry doesn't want to know the answer, so he interrupts him. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to hear the reason.

“You're tired,” he says, and his tone is frantic again, even though he's trying to stay calm and collected, trying to act rational and like he can find a solution, like he's someone that Zayn can trust to make it all better. He is, and he will. “Well, go to sleep, you can sleep on it, and it'll feel better in the morning, right?” He's moved closer to Zayn, taking a few tentative steps towards him, feeling like as long as he's being careful, Zayn might stay. Like a lonesome deer in a meadow, so long as he's being careful, Zayn might realise that it's okay, and that he doesn't need to run. “Right?” he says again. “You know, you- you just need to relax for a bit, maybe have a bite to eat, we can order something up if you want, just- just don't- it's okay, it'll be okay. Okay?” Zayn is looking down at the floor and Harry moves closer even. “You know, you've felt this way before, haven't you? It went away then, and it'll go away now, you'll see, babe.”

Harry hates the sound of his voice. However much he is trying to ignore it, he is desperate, and no matter what words are coming out of his mouth, he still can't shake away the feeling that this moment is different. This isn't like what Zayn was feeling two years ago. This is worse, and Harry is terrified.

“It didn't go away,” Zayn says suddenly, and Harry stops all movements to listen to him, as Zayn looks up at him again. “It didn't go away then, and it's not gonna go away now.” His face is calm. Sad, but calm, and Harry swallows.

“Yes, it will,” he tries. Something in his gut is telling him that his attempts are all futile but he can't be listening to that quite yet, not when Zayn is still here and looking at him like he is. Not yet. “It will, babe,” He's right in front of Zayn now, less than a meter of space between them, but he keeps his hands to himself, for now. For both their sakes. “I promise you that. This will all go away, you've just got to give it time.” Harry's voice is soft and low now, and it must be more effective than when he was on the verge of yelling before, because all of a sudden a tear is rolling down Zayn's cheek as he blinks down at the floor between them. He shakes his head silently, a small, sad frown appearing on his face before he lifts a hand to swipe away at his now wet cheeks. Harry's heart breaks and he can't stop himself any longer.

“Babe,” he sighs out, grasping Zayn's face in both hands, wanting him to look up at him so he can look him in the eyes, but Zayn just presses his lips together in a thin line, shaking his head still with Harry's hands cupping his cheeks. Harry has just enough time to open his arms before Zayn is stepping into them, leaning his cheek on Harry's shoulder and facing away from him. Harry wraps his arms tightly around him, one hand coming up to stroke at the back of his head and cupping his neck gently.

“It's alright,” he whispers softly, breath falling over Zayn's exposed neck, his bare skin so soft under Harry's fingers. “We'll make it work, the two of us,” and all of a sudden, he's not talking about the situation at hand, he's not talking about the future of the band or anything else that may have brought Zayn to feel the way he's feeling. “No one else needs to know, we'll work it out, you and me,” Harry closes his eyes and kisses Zayn's neck softly. “We'll make it work.”

Zayn lets Harry hold him for another brief moment, lets his mouth rest against his skin, lets him breathe in his familiar scent, before he is slowly pulling away. Harry doesn't let him go far, keeping a hold of Zayn's hands again, Zayn looking like he wants to break free completely before he lets out a deep sigh. His cheeks are still wet and Harry lifts one hand to swipe away the drying tears.

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” Zayn's voice is almost a whisper, and he's still not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry freezes, one thumb stroking over Zayn's cheek as he stares intently at him, waiting for him to explain what he means. “I wanted to tell you so many times.” Zayn shakes his head again, and Harry holds his breath. “The boys. They already know.” Zayn looks up at him, waiting for a reaction, but Harry doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what the hell he was expecting, but whatever it was, it was stupid. This is not about him. This was never about him. Idiot.

He frowns, the actual meaning behind Zayn's words slowly coming to him. “What?”

Zayn clenches his jaw, looking like he's bracing himself for something. “I already told them. Before the show. I just-” he cuts himself off. “Sorry.”

Harry's hands drop from where they're holding onto Zayn. He doesn't know why it stings so much, but it does. A sense of deja vu creeps onto him and he stares at Zayn, who stares back, with a tearstreaked face, and a sharp gaze.

Harry shrugs his shoulders in defeat. “So what does this mean then?”

Zayn clenches his jaw again. “I need to go.” he doesn't spare one more glance at Harry before he's heading for the door, his steps quick and determined.

The sound of Zayn opening the door pulls Harry from his frozen state of helplessness, and he hurries over as fast as his still intoxicated legs can carry him, pushing the door closed before Zayn can take a step out of the room. Zayn flinches back before sighing and looking up at Harry. He wants to go, Harry can tell how much he wants to, and he knows he's being selfish, but he doesn't care.

“Can you, just-” he scours his brain for one last moment of clarity, one last desperate attempt, something to make this moment last. Zayn waits. “Just-” Harry shakes his head, before sighing. “Alright. Can you just... wait for me tomorrow. Okay? Just let me see you before you leave, let me- let me just... talk to you. We'll talk. Please?”

Zayn bites the inside of his lip, and Harry goes on. “Just take this night to... I don't know. Just don't leave before I can see you. Please, Zayn.” He doesn't care how desperate he sounds, because he is. He's desperate.

Zayn looks down at the floor, before nodding.

“Yeah?” Harry breathes.

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers.

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding along, before moving a hand up to cup Zayn's neck again, pulling him into him, and kissing his damp cheek. He lets his lips linger for just a moment too long before pulling away. Zayn swallows visibly, meeting Harry's gaze, and Harry nods again. “Okay,” he whispers. “You sure you don't wanna stay here? I'll throw up as quietly as I can, I promise,” the comment does its job and a small smile reaches Zayn's lips, for just a brief moment, but it's enough for Harry to feel a fluttering inside his chest. Zayn shakes his head.

“Nah. I'll let you sleep it off.” He says, and a hiccup escapes Harry's throat, right on cue, making Zayn chuckle softly and Harry smiles. Suddenly he can feel how utterly exhausted he actually is, and a good sleep in his nice hotel bed sounds more tempting than anything else. Zayn will be here in the morning anyway, that's all he can ask for right now. He'll still get his chance. He just needs to sleep for a bit. Harry nods.

“Alright. You too,” he says, and Zayn looks down at his feet quickly, before meeting Harry's eyes again. “Right,” he says, looking at the door. Harry moves away and opens it up for him.

“I'll see you in the morning. Alright?” he says, keeping his eyes firmly on Zayn. Zayn nods, and Harry pulls him in for one last hug, not being able to resist to press a kiss to his neck, feeling Zayn's hands come to rest on his back. He's got a small smile on his face as Harry pulls away. It looks sad, but Harry just takes it as a sign of fatigue. He must not look so good himself either.

“See ya,” Zayn says softly, giving Harry one more smile before walking down the corridor to his own room. Harry stays stood in his doorway, watching him open his door and step inside, not glancing back at him even once. As Zayn closes his door, Harry lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and shuts his own door. He falls into bed fully dressed, and is asleep within seconds.

 

 

Harry wakes up slightly disorientated and with a sense of nausea bubbling in his stomach. He sits on the side of his bed for a minute, trying to calm his breathing and not feel like he's gonna throw up as soon as he gets on his feet. He'd forgotten to close the curtains the night before and the light is in his eyes, making him groan and finally pull himself up to a standing position, just to get out of the blinding sunbeams. He wobbles for a bit, but his stomach stays calm, and he can get himself into the bathroom without any mishaps along the way.

After a slightly colder shower than usual, Harry feels a lot more awake. His tummy is still cursing him for drinking as much as he did last night, and he stands staring at himself for a good couple of minutes before having to admit defeat and bend over to hurl into the toilet. A long session of rinsing out his mouth with toothpaste later, and he feels ready to properly face the world.

It's only when he notices the missing ring on his finger as he's getting his boots on to go down to have breakfast that Harry remembers. He hurriedly gets himself together, pocketing his wallet and his phone without checking it for any messages and leaving the room to walk down towards Zayn's. He gives himself a moment to breathe before he knocks on the door. He doesn't have a clue of what he's going to say exactly, but he feels like he doesn't have the time to think about it either. He'll figure something out, he always does. Hopefully it will be enough.

No one opens, and Harry knocks again, a bit harder. Nothing. He tries the door handle to check if it might be open, but is met with resistance. He must've gone down for breakfast, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes at the logic, and heads for the lifts instead. He checks his reflection in the mirror as he's going down, cringing slightly at the obvious rings under his eyes, and the way he looks like he hasn't slept properly in years. He's hanging, but that will have to wait.

Walking into the lobby he can already hear the noise from the dining hall, and advances towards it with long strides. He stops inside the entrance and scans the large room, looking for that head of dark, fluffy hair. Nothing. He frowns to himself before spotting Liam and Louis at the far end of the hall, and makes his way over.

“Morning,” he breathes out as he gets to their table, making them look up from their plates. They look about as tired as Harry feels, and he distractedly manages to register the absence of the smiles that are usually on both of their faces. It is early after all.

“Good day,” Louis says, nodding in greeting. Harry frowns. Louis chuckles tiredly. There's no real happiness in his eyes. “It's like twelve, Haz,” he says, voice quiet and lacking all enthusiasm. Harry looks down at his wrist watch for the first time since he woke up. It is.

“God, I did sleep in, didn't I,” he laughs a bit, before focusing on Louis again. “Hey, have any of you seen Zayn yet?” He's getting restless now, he can feel it in both his voice and his body, completely ignoring the weird sensation in his stomach. Fucking Dan.

Louis freezes and Liam looks back up at Harry, fork still in his hand. “No, mate,” Louis says slowly, gaze intent on Harry's face. He looks very unsure, a small frown appearing on his face. “Did he not speak to you last night? He said he was going to.” The two of them look seconds from letting their jaws drop to the floor and Harry nods quickly.

“Yeah, he did,” Liam and Louis look even more confused, and Harry shakes his head to try and explain. “We were gonna talk for a bit. I just, I need to tell him something. Before he goes.” Harry takes a deep breath to try and get himself to stop feeling anxious, as he stands there, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, feeling a pang in his stomach every time he strokes over the unusually naked space on one of them. He can feel how nervous he is, but there's a sense of determination floating through his body as well. He needs to talk to Zayn.

Louis lets out a long sigh and shakes his head before looking down at his plate again. He keeps shaking his head, laying an elbow on the table to let his forehead rest in his hand, not saying anything and Harry frowns, turning to Liam instead who is watching Louis with a miserable expression on his face. It's laced with pity and helplessness. Harry notices, when he turns to face him.

“He left, mate.”

Harry stops all movements. None of them say anything for a good couple of seconds, Liam keeping that same look on his face as he doesn't break away from Harry's stare.

“What?” Harry doesn't recognise his own voice when he speaks. For some reason, he can barely hear himself. But he does hear what Liam says next, loud and clear.

“He left, early this morning, like before sunrise. He's gone home.”

Harry can feel the frown on his face. But that's about it. He only notices himself walking away when he hears Liam's voice calling his name as he leaves.

 

 

He finds himself sitting on the side of his hotel bed, in the same space as when he'd woken up, hands grasping the mattress at his sides, staring dazedly out of the window. He feels sick still, more so than when he had left his room earlier, the uncomfortable feeling having spread itself from his stomach and to his chest.

A buzzing feeling on his thigh has him reaching for his phone, his limbs working without any sense of connection from his brain. He sees Liam's name popping up on the screen, but his attention is drawn to a message just underneath it, one that he hadn't noticed until now. The screen turns dark before he can make his mind work properly and he presses a button to make it light up again. And there it is. Just two words. Two fucking words to end all of this. Two fucking words to make all the feelings of hope and determination turn to dust in a bare second.

_sorry babe_

Harry drops his phone to the floor.

 

-

 

He has just gotten comfortable and opened his book when there's a knock on his dressing room door. Sighing, Harry closes the book, keeping his thumb on the page he's at and looks at the door for a second before replying. “Come in.”

Louis steps in and closes the door behind himself immediately. Harry frowns. “Yes?”

Louis huffs out a laugh, taking a look around the room. It's dimly lit, black curtains hanging up all over the walls, the extravagant floor lamp by Harry's reclining chair being the only real source of light in the room, save for the two scented candles on the table in the corner. “I always did have my suspicions about you possibly being an actual vampire,” Louis says, walking further into the room and coming to a stop in front of where Harry is leaning back in his chair. He puts his hands on his hips. “Seems I was right.” Harry rolls his eyes and Louis raises his eyebrows. “Would explain your cold and moody disposition as well.”

Harry glares at him. “What do you want?”

It's Louis' turn to roll his eyes. “For fuck's sake Harry, lighten up.” He says, and sits down on the coffee table standing close by. Harry watches his movements with a frown of slight disapproval, but doesn't say anything. “We're going home soon, shouldn't that make you smile at least?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at his book. He sighs and looks back up at Louis' expectant face. “Seriously, what is it?”

Louis copies Harry's sigh, holding his gaze for a while before giving in. “Liam has been talking to Zayn a bit.”

Harry puts down the book and goes up to grab a bottle of water from the table by the wall. He takes a few large gulps and wipes his mouth on his bicep. “That's nice.” He stays turned towards the wall, securing the cork on the bottle with a strength definitely not needed.

“He still hasn't spoken a word to me. But then again, I haven't spoken to him either.” Louis goes on, Harry feeling his gaze on his back. He shrugs.

“Sucks for you.”

Louis sighs roughly. Harry can tell he's getting agitated.

“Yeah, but you know, that's kinda what happens when two people respectively don't talk to each other. You don't really get anywhere, no progress is made from either one so. You're just kind of at a stand still.” Harry nods, still not facing him.

“So call him then.” He is deliberately keeping his voice ridiculously calm and emotionless, and Louis hears it just as well as Harry does. Harry takes another swig of the bottle.

“Can you turn around, you twat,” Harry frowns with his mouth filled with water, but he does as Louis says. They glare at each other for a moment before Louis sighs and continues. “He called me like a month after he left, and I didn't pick up. I do regret it in a way, but,” Louis shrugs. “I just wasn't ready.” Harry keeps his blank stare, feeling like he might be on the verge of loosing his cool, but Louis goes on before he can fully consider it. “I know I've been a fucking prick for the way I've handled the situation, and _that_ I do regret,” Louis says and Harry frowns, just about to throw out a comment about how Louis must be mistaking him for his therapist but he doesn't get the chance to. “But it's different for us, see.”

The look in Louis' eyes as he looks at him has an uncomfortable feeling settling in Harry's stomach. He's not sure that he knows where this is going, and he's not sure that he wants to know.

“Me and Zayn,” Louis starts. There's a hint of sadness in his eyes, and Harry gives him a moment to sort out what he's trying to say, and to most likely attempt to shove away the memories just those three words may have triggered. He knows what that's like. He hates that he does. “We're both the most stubborn gits,” Harry huffs out a breath and looks back down at his bottle, leaning back against the table behind him. To say the least. “We bring out both the best and the worst in each other,” Harry looks back up at Louis, hearing in his voice that he's struggling a lot more than he tries to let on. Louis shrugs. “We've had our ups and downs but we always find our way back.” Louis looks down at his hands. “Always,” he says in a quiet voice. Harry waits. Louis shakes his head at himself and rolls his eyes, looking back up at Harry.

“What I'm fucking trying to say is that I'm fine without Zayn. I am,” If Harry were anyone else he wouldn't be able to detect the hint of pain in Louis' eyes. But there is no lie hidden behind them either. “If it takes a few years for us to get over our pride then so be it, I can deal with that, because I know that we'll be fine. In the end, we'll both be fine, on our own or together.” Louis shrugs again, and Harry sucks his cheeks in to gnaw on. “But you might not be.”

Harry fixes his eyes firmly on Louis'. He's not sure he was expecting that. “Me?”

“You. Him. The two of you.” Louis says simply. Harry doesn't know what to say. “It was always different for you. Wasn't it?”

Harry is frozen for a moment, before the life comes back to his body, and the only thing he can feel is anger. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he turns back to the table, putting his bottle down and grabbing a satsuma, holding it firmly in his hand but showing no signs of wanting to peel it.

“You're not the only one that he left, Harry,” he hears Louis say, voice more firm and to the point. “But we're all dealing with it, aren't we,” Harry drops the fruit and whips around before Louis can say anything else.

“I'm dealing with it,” He can feel his heart start to hammer in his chest.

“No, you're not,” Louis shows no signs of backing down, on the contrary, he looks more ready to push through than ever, now that he's finally gotten a proper reaction out of Harry. “You've been pissing about, not replying to his attempts at getting back in touch,” Louis is properly glaring now. “You know what, fuck it – you're the most stubborn out of all of us,” he says, trying to get a rise out of Harry, and succeeding, as usual.

“What, like you've been any better?” Harry raises his voice. “You just fucking told me that you haven't been picking up his calls?” He can feel a rant coming on, one that he should probably try to stop, but it's just not happening. “See, that's what's fucking different, Lou,” he goes on and Louis just listens, still with that sour look on his face. “You've been getting the calls, you've been getting the fucking opportunities to get back in touch, while I've- I've gotten fuck all!” He's properly angry now, but Louis isn't deterred in the slightest.

“You fucking liar,” Louis scoffs and Harry's frown deepens even more. “He's been fucking texting you,” Louis says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and it throws Harry off, not being able to say anything and standing there staring at Louis like a fucking goldfish. Louis nods triumphantly. “Liam told me. Zayn told Liam who told me.” Harry gets his wits about him to shake his head in confusion and at the ridiculousness of it all. “What the fuck is this, fucking secondary school?” He grunts out and goes over to slump down onto his chair again. “And what the fuck is he doing talking to Liam about me?” he says as the situation registers in his mind, all of a sudden wanting to head straight down the hall to Liam's dressing room to ask him what Zayn's been saying. Just the knowledge that he's been talking about him is enough to make Harry feel a weird sense of confused excitement, and he shakes his head at himself. The fucking prick can come to him if he has something to say, he thinks, while roughly pushing down the realisations that that's exactly what he's been trying to do. But he hasn't gotten a text since the day Zayn left, without so much as a proper good-bye, so really. He can fuck off.

Louis somehow manages to see through it all, and shrugs casually. “I don't know, maybe you should ask him,” he says, sounding like he's talking to a five-year-old instead of a moody and extremely childish adult man.

Harry can feel the pouting frown on his face and he would like to make it disappear but his mood won't let him. Fuck this whole conversation. Fuck Louis, and fuck Liam, and fuck fucking Zayn. He can feel Louis studying him from the corner of his eye, having lifted up the book and holding it in his lap again, even though he's not even remotely in the mood to read anymore, feeling more like he needs to go for a three hour run to blow off some much needed steam.

“I'm not trying to make you upset, mate,” Louis says, his voice a lot more collected now, and Harry resists the urge to scoff. “But you know this is all your own fault, right?” Harry gives Louis a glare at the way he blatantly contradicts his previous words. “I'm just saying,” Louis goes on, not breaking Harry's gaze. “If it's been rough for us...” he trails off, and Harry looks away, ignoring the lump forming in his throat.

“We're just trying to help you find your way back. It's up to you. Just don't think that it'll sort itself out on its own. It's different, innit.” Harry lifts a hand up to rest his forehead in, deliberately blocking his eyes from Louis view.

“You should go practice this dad-shit on someone who actually needs it,” he says after a few seconds of trying to keep the lump firmly lodged in his throat, making sure it won't break free as soon as he opens his mouth. Louis chuckles softly, humourlessly, and Harry hears him stand up, feeling the nudge at his bent knee and watching Louis' legs as he leaves the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Harry lets himself breathe for a moment before moving his hand down to his lap. Fuck Louis. Just fuck it all.

-

When Harry gets back to London, he takes a seat at his dining table, laptop in front of him and leaning his chin on his knuckles. He sits there for a good couple of minutes, enjoying the silence, and trying to let everything around him calm him down to a state of conciousness where what he's about to do won't scare him as much as he knows it undoubtedly will.

He writes the email. It's cordial, devoid of any real emotion, but extremely civil and quite brief. It has to be, he doesn't dare give anything else, and when he sends it, he knows that it's a weak attempt. But it's an attempt nonetheless.

The months go by. The album drops. Christmas comes and goes, and suddenly, everything is finally over.

Zayn doesn't reply.

And Harry doesn't blame him.

 

-

 

It's just about the last thing Harry was ever expecting. It wasn't even on the list of things that he ever dared to expect, but it happens, just as he's in the car to France, rapidly approaching the canal. Harry would say it's a sign, a little part of him would, that little part of him that he's worked so hard to silence during all of these years, but he lets it break through as he looks down at his phone now, sitting in the back of the car on the way to get into the tunnel.

_Congratulations on the movie H, excited for you_

That's it, just a few words of polite congrats, but it's enough for Harry to not hear what Jeff is saying to him, his voice distant through the phone that Harry had pulled from his ear to check when it had buzzed in his hand. He quickly puts the phone back to his ear and apologises for getting distracted, managing to keep enough of his wits about him to be able to listen and take in what Jeff is saying, then saying a quick good-bye, Jeff letting him go before he loses service completely. Harry hangs up immediately and stares at his phone again, the message clear as day on his screen, his thumbs poised above the little strip at the bottom, not knowing at all what to even think.

Looking up he sees the tunnel come into view, and as he turns back to his phone again, his thumbs start working on their own accord. He types out a quick reply and sends it, mere feet away from the entrance, and watches the message being sent and delivered before his signal turns completely blank. His heart is beating violently in his chest, but he manages to lean back properly into his seat, making himself comfortable for the long ride, and closing his eyes to let out a slow breath, silently thanking the ocean for not giving him the choice to think about anything else but the sound of the car on the tarmac. It'll be a few hours now, and judging by the answer Harry had replied with, he figures he might need it.

_How did you get my number?_

 

-

 

_I saw the new hair, it looks really nice, suits you_

_are you stalking me?_

Harry grins as he walks through the trailers, stuffing his phone into his pocket so he can take off his thick brown shirt, leaving him in only his army trousers. He snaps the braces against his shoulders and ties the shirt around his waist before looking up to say a cheery hello to members of the crew as he walks through the car park towards his trailer. It's boiling in Urk today and Harry draws a happy sigh of relief as he steps inside his air conditioned and cosy trailer. It's been a fair amount of waiting around during the morning as well, so a lot of standing ready in their layered costumes, just letting the sweat drip down their backs and their faces under the cloudless sky. It's a good thing they're meant to look dirty and gross in the first place, or the make up team would be faced with quite the challenge.

Harry gets his phone out once again and slumps down onto a sofa by the window, the drapes pulled down to keep the sun at bay, and feels the grin come back to his face at Zayn's message.

_I had to have a creep around online didn't I, it's not like u ever send me any pics anyway. besides I have a lot of your fans on my timeline for some reason, didn't know you were that big of a deal tbh but maybe that's just me eh?_

Harry does that same pouting frown towards the phone that he would have shown Zayn had he been with him in person, still not managing to wipe the smile off his face as he types back quickly.

_You're the one following my fan accounts, innit? I smell lies and denial in the air._

He writes back before putting the phone down on the seat beside him and going up to get a refreshment from the fridge. His phone buzzes as he chugs down half a bottle of iced tea, and Harry looks at it from over his knuckles as he drinks, closing the fridge door and taking the drink with him to sit back down.

_Yeah, yeah, i'm a creepy stalker fanboy, you got me_

Zayn's message is followed by a cute little emoji and it makes Harry smile as he sees it, picturing Zayn at home doing the same face and letting a quiet laugh slip out before kicking off his boots and leaning back again.

He still can't believe this is all actually happening, but ever since Zayn sent that first text congratulating him on his big role, things have slowly but surely started to look up for the two of them. When Harry had arrived in France on the other side of the tunnel, there had been another message from Zayn popping up on the screen, and Harry's heart had done a weird side-step at the sight of it, being surprised even though he'd obviously sent the question that Zayn was replying to. Liam, of course, had been the one that Zayn had finally plucked up the courage to ask for Harry's number, which luckily had not changed since the last time he and Liam had swapped some texts over Christmas, Harry being one of the first people to be filled in on Liam's newfound happiness in life.

A part of Harry had still felt a twinge of anger in the pit of his stomach. There had barely been a day that had gone by where he hadn't thought of Zayn, he is happy to admit that to himself, but the feelings were always on the negative side. How could they not be, when the last time they saw each other, Zayn had given Harry a promise that he must have known he wouldn't be keeping. When Harry had been an idiot and thrown away his one chance at keeping Zayn in his life and hadn't bothered to do something about it until months and months later. But that little part of him was squashed in the blink of an eye, in favour of feeling the greatest sense of relief and joy – and shock – at the realisation that Zayn might not hate him as much as Harry had started to convince himself that he did. The fact that Zayn had chosen to be the bigger man – the most honest and vulnerable man – and sent Harry the most genuine text, even after having been rejected before; there was nothing in the whole entire world that could stop Harry from grasping onto this opportunity now when he was presented with it so clearly, everything past or present be damned.

He was more than aware of Zayn's current situation, having been just as much of a creep as Zayn had been during the time they'd spent apart, reading up on what Zayn was up to, torturing himself with doing a quick Google search once news broke of Zayn's newfound relationship (something that he was made very brutally and rudely aware of through industry gossip, the only real downside of having Jeff as a manager being the expansive circle of nosy and blabbermouthed people that sometimes surrounded him). It all had been proven to be true, and even though Harry hadn't exactly expected for Zayn to stay single after breaking it off with Perrie, he wasn't expecting a new relationship to happen so soon. But Zayn being the serial monogamist that he was should have been enough to make Harry shrug his shoulders at it all. It's not like the knowledge of this was new to Harry, it had been enough of an undenying obstacle in his mind for years for him to roll his eyes at his own shock and surprise.

If Harry had been around when Zayn and Perrie broke it off, maybe it would have been different. But he doesn't really let himself think of that. And he wasn't, not even a little bit, consuming himself with work in an attempt not to think about it. Not to think about Zayn moving over to the states on his own, not to think about Perrie heartbroken at home, and more than anything – not to think about how the conversation might have gone. And if it had included his name or not. But he wasn't around, so it's not like it even mattered anyway. Him and Zayn were through, and that was that. No broken relationship would be able to change that. All of those thoughts came slamming back into Harry's face when he found out about Zayn and Gigi, but he'd already had way too much practice and experience to not be able to deal with it. And it's not like he didn't have his own shit to think about anyway. Whatever distraction he could think of really, in any form possible, he'd take it. And that, indeed, was that.

None of those thoughts had been floating through Harry's mind as him and Zayn began to text, tentatively, back and forth. All he could think about was Zayn. Just Zayn. Zayn being willing to talk to him. Zayn taking the time to reach out to him. Everything else was irrelevant, and he took it all with open arms. It was truly amazing how quickly things became somewhat relaxed between them. But then again, so many things about the two of them had always been a bit difficult both to understand and describe. It didn't matter, they were finally on the same wavelength, and Harry could feel the same relief from Zayn just by reading his words. There was no way he was fucking this up. Not again. Never ever again.

 _It's ok mate, I always knew I was your favourite_  

Harry snickers at his own cheek, dropping his phone in his lap and laying his head back on the headrest, watching the little dots as Zayn types.

_We both know that's a blatant lie pls, just bc you're cute doesn't mean you can act this way_

Harry bites his lip and grabs his phone to reply.

The texts have been taking a slight turn in the last week, the air of the conversations having a tiny - miniscule really, if Harry can say so himself – underlying hint of what might be interpreted as something verging on flirty. It's not though, not really, because this is how they've always spoken to each other, and Harry is just happy to be back to their old ways. The fact that their old ways were riddled with a lot more circulating between them than now is something that he is pointedly ignoring. This is good, this is great even. There's nothing saying that Harry shouldn't be able to enjoy it to the fullest, stupid overthinking antics be damned. And it's not like it's only him, if Zayn would have been uncomfortable at all then he would have said so, or Harry would have noticed it straight away. But he hasn't and everything is just great. If Harry is subconsciously (or maybe very conciously) avoiding certain subjects, that's okay too. He's had a rough year, the roughest in a while, and he deserves to celebrate the end of it accordingly. Zayn seems to have caught on to it as well, or he might be thinking the same. Whatever it is, Harry is grateful, and over the moon with how things have been playing out so far. He genuinely doesn't think he can remember the last time he was this happy, and it's one of the best feelings ever.

Zayn is typing again before Harry can send something back and Harry waits for him to finish and send his message before starting to write something else.

_You having fun tho? Looks like it (yeah yeah yeah), your costars seem smitten already lol_

Harry breathes out another laugh, not paying any mind to the slight flush rising on his cheeks. It is hot outside after all, he thinks, ignoring the sound of the air conditioning inside the trailer.

_It's amazing, i'm loving it honestly. The other guys don't seem too fed up just yet so I must be doing something right_

_nah, you're good definitely. who's that blond guy who was making eyes at you, tom or something? You seem to have made your mark lol_

Harry can feel his eyebrows raising slowly on his forehead. He knows very well how strangely flirty and cheeky their texts have become lately. Again, it's barely anything new. But something about that last message has him taken aback, just a little bit. If he was anything like the guy he used to be a couple of years ago, naïve and hopeful, observant of even the tiniest little signs from the man sitting on the other side of the world with his own phone in his hand, he'd say that that text had a slight hint of jealousy to it. But he's not that guy anymore, so he doesn't let himself dwell on it and forces himself to keep texting, typing out an answer and keeping his cool. It's 2016, and the Harry of yesteryears needs to get a grip.

_Tom yeah, he's lovely, they all are, it's a great bunch to work with, they've made it so easy for me_

Harry replies, feeling very proud of himself for keeping it casual while still being completely genuine in his answer. It's no biggie.

_That's good, they should be, how could they not :) i've been thinking actually, idk how long you have left exactly but I was just thinking like, if you wanted to pop by when you get back? Thatd be nice :) if you want I mean, if you wont be busy, which im sure you probably will be actually lol_

Harry does need to take a second at that one. They've been getting on just swimmingly over text but this is still kind of out of the blue, and Harry wasn't expecting it at all, not by how his hands are suddenly sweating from something other than the hot weather. He rereads the message a few times, taking a couple of large breaths. He's not even fully thought about going back to LA, it's still a ways away at the moment, the filming in Urk not having been going on for too long, and there's still a trip back to England due before they can move over to the studios at Universal. All of these thoughts come flying through Harry's head at Zayn's text, trying to make sense of themselves before Harry can properly dare to think about what Zayn is actually asking. 'If you wanted to pop by'. Harry does want to. That's his initial instinctive thought when he can finally let himself consider giving Zayn an answer. He wants to, he's fucking scared as hell all of a sudden at the prospect of seeing Zayn live, in person, for the first time in over a year. But he wants to. The feeling overcomes him in a solid second and he realises that there might not be anything he wants more.

He sucks in a large breath and lets it flow out of him slowly before looking down at his phone again. It's been a couple of minutes and Harry still hasn't answered. He imagines Zayn at home, sitting in the house that Harry has never seen but may or may not be picturing him in nevertheless, biting his lip and holding his phone tight, waiting for a reply. Harry starts typing, without fully knowing what he wants to say. He presses backspace and takes a moment.

_I'd love to_

It's all he can muster up. Short and dreadfully honest, but he has to send something, something to let Zayn know that he hasn't made an arse of himself by even plucking up the courage to ask.

_Yeah? :) when will you be off? or like when will you be back I mean lol_

Harry replies quick as anything this time. There's no time for fucking around, he's done with that and he really can't be bothered. He wants to see him.

_We go back to LA early in september, i'll probably have one or two weeks more to film, but i'll be home regardless. Just let me know when you're free, and i'd love to come see you._

He's laying it all out there now, but to hell with it. Zayn wants to see him, and Harry is not about to fuck it up by acting like the aloof prick he's been channeling for the past year. This is what's real and what matters. Fuck trying to disguise your feelings at this point. He's done with it. Done.

_Yeah sure, that sounds great :) i'd just love to tell you that i've missed you in person, instead of having to write it over text lol_

Harry's heart skips a beat and he feels himself grinning widely at his phone. The flush is back on his cheeks and he wipes the back of his hand across his brows. He coughs out a laugh, having leant forward in all his excitement, sitting with his elbows on his knees, phone in both hands. Fucking hell.

_Wish I could say the same mate, don't let these texts fool you, i'm still just the emotionless robot that you've heard about_

Harry types, while sitting on the sofa still with the biggest smile on his face. It's a good thing Zayn isn't here right now, because actor or not, there is no way he could ever be able to tone it down at this moment, not even a little bit.

_HAH we'll see about that won't we ;) you're not as tough as you think, not nearly_

Harry's heart does a proper three-sixty turn and he's just about to type something even cheekier back before there's a knock on his door frame, the door to his trailer still standing wide open, and he looks to the side to see one of the many lovely DA's popping her head through the door.

“You ready, Harry?” She says with a smile, and Harry nods back happily.

“Yeah, I'll be right there,” he says, pulling his boots back on quickly and standing up immediately, grabbing his iced tea from the little coffee table. She smiles and goes to wait outside the trailer.

Harry holds onto the bottle with a few fingers while keeping both hands on his phone, hastily sending one last message to Zayn.

_We'll see indeed, gotta go now, duty calls yet again, i'll talk to you later x_

Zayn is quick to reply and Harry has just enough time to check it before he stuffs his phone into a drawer inside the trailer.

_Have fun :) xx_

Harry tightens the shirt around his waist and steps out into the sunlight, closing the door tightly behind him before following after the DA showing him the way back on set.

The grin stays plastered on his face the whole day.

 

-

 

Harry takes the Mercedes to Zayn's villa in the mountains. He's been trying to keep calm all morning, having woken up way too early and then not being able to fall back asleep, laying and feeling the butterflies in his stomach already start to flutter around like crazy. It had been no use even to try to get another wink, resulting in having to spend the hours before he was due at Zayn's walking around his house and waiting for the time to kill itself. Finally, the clock had struck one and Harry had been out of the house in an instant.

As he's driving with the top down he takes notice of his surroundings on the way to Zayn's place. In the back of his mind Harry registers how close Zayn's house is to his old one. He's been living in the new house for less than a year and it's been alright so far, he likes it, but he still misses his old place, and while driving through the hills he tries not to think about the fact that had he been at the old villa, Zayn's place would have been just a longer walk away.

On the night of the wrap party the day before, Harry had been overcome with a bucketload of different emotions. Standing in the big room at the film studios with so many people from the cast and crew he felt bittersweet. On the one hand he doesn't think he's ever felt this proud of himself, not in a long time at least, but knowing that it's all over filled him with a sense of sadness still. The promo season will be an entirely different and all the same exciting time, but he's truly enjoyed himself so much this summer, that it'll surely take some time to get used to not having a casting call to get to every morning.

All of this along with the steady underlying hint of nerves had him feeling jittery and sleepy at the same time, but he indulged in every conversation, taking pictures with as many people as possible, happily posing with every single person of the crew that was present. It was a great mood all around and Harry almost didn't wanna go home when it finally came to the end of the night. Almost.

Zayn and him have been texting on and off over the past two months, and Harry is not even afraid to say that it's been the happiest he's been in ages. Zayn's random little texts have made him get through the long days with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, which has also seemed to put the rest of the crew in a better mood, his excitement and uplifting mood having made its mark and lifted the spirits on the entire set. It's been so good, but it doesn't stop Harry from feeling nervous about seeing him in person.

He texted Zayn with the info as soon as he got it, of when he would finally be done, and not have to worry about fitting his schedule around his personal life, and they made plans to catch up the day after the wrap party. That day is today, and while Harry half feels like he's gonna piss himself with nerves and anticipation, he's excited. He's been excited for two months already, all of it building up to this moment as he sees Zayn's house come into view.

It's a modest size, big of course, but nothing too extravagant, Harry taking it all in as he pulls up outside the villa and gets out of his car. It seems very Zayn, crisp and clean, but looking nicely in place amongst the greenery surrounding it, where it stands leaning against the hill on which it's built.

The door opening wide brings Harry's attention away from the roof of the house to the entrance, Zayn standing there with the sun in his eyes, one hand coming up to shield his face from the rays. Harry lets out a breath, and allows the big smile that is so desperate to creep onto his face break free fully. Zayn grins back, both of them just standing there, Harry a few feet away still, holding his car keys in both hands. Zayn laughs and Harry feels his stomach do a tiny backflip.

“You coming in or what?”

That's all it takes for Harry to rush up the steps as quickly as he can without actually running, into Zayn's arms, pulling him tightly into him and feeling a years worth of pain and confusion slip out of him in one breath. Zayn hums a cooing sound and Harry closes his eyes, tightening his arms even more around Zayn as they rock slightly side to side for a moment before Zayn laughs softly again.

“Is this you not missing me? Because I'm scared to imagine what this would be like if you had,” there's that laugh in his voice and Harry just breathes out one of his own, still not letting go. Zayn rubs his back slowly, and Harry enjoys the feeling of his hands on him before finally pulling back to look him properly in the eye.

“Hi,” Zayn smiles happily, the sun still in his eyes and his hands firm at Harry's sides. “You get here okay?”

Harry just nods, still with that stupid smile on his face and Zayn must find it funny because he laughs again and Harry lets his hands squeeze gently where they're still holding onto Zayn's shoulders.

“Alright, get in then.” Zayn grins and lets go of Harry to turn around and step into the house, Harry taking a large breath before following, closing the door gently behind him.

Zayn's house is just as crisp but slightly less clean on the inside, Harry finds after he's been given a proper tour of the place. It's filled with a healthy mix of homely knick knacks and comfy seats coupled with a smart and modern interior décor, such as the near pristine kitchen with its white countertops and cupboards, the appliances standing out in their steel glory, dotted all over the room. They've been chatting animatedly and casually, and it's just like it's always been, to Harry's amazement and incredible relief. It's a new setting, and they're both very aware of how long it's been, how much has changed. But it's all the same, the vibe between them, the banter, everything. It's like a dream almost, and Harry never ever wants to wake up.

Zayn sits him down at the kitchen island, pouring them some lemonade instead of the usual hot drink due to the glorious weather outside, Harry having put his sunglasses down on the countertop, fiddling with them distractedly as he laughs at his own comment about Zayn's hosting antics.

“I rarely have people over like this, I'm trying my best,” Zayn pouts as he puts the pitcher away and goes to sit down again.

“Like how?” Harry asks with a smile, pushing his glasses to the side in favour of taking a sip of his drink. “Am I a fancy guest?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh. “Hm, nah,” he shrugs casually, getting his phone from out of his pocket and putting it on the worktop. “I usually get out the good stuff for the fancy ones.”

Harry's eyes widen a little, a small grin threatening to break out on his face, Zayn noticing by the slight raise of his eyebrow as he takes a sip of his own glass. “Which is?”

“Confidential,” Zayn says and takes another sip. Harry laughs out and Zayn grins, putting his glass back down and leaning forward to rest his arms on the island. They're silent for a while, Harry taking some time to take in the surroundings, as Zayn watches quietly, all the while trying not to feel too flushed by Zayn's eyes on him. His eyes come to rest on the breakfast bar behind Zayn, that had caught his eye briefly as they'd entered the room, before he'd torn his gaze away to focus on just about anything else. As he sees the two jars of Nutella stand side by side on the countertop now, his mouth makes the decision for his brain to speak up.

“So, how's the missus?” It sounds more like a statement than a question. Probably because Harry isn't very interested in the answer at all, but something in him is forcing him to ask, for whatever reason, he isn't too sure. Zayn hums in question. Harry nods at the breakfast bar and Zayn turns to look.

“Oh,” he says before turning back around. “Yeah, she's good,” He's smiling. Harry refrains from clenching his jaw. “She's in New York at the moment, getting ready for fashion week. I'll be joining her in a couple days, should be fun.” His voice is gentle and soft and Harry just nods.

“You've met before, haven't you?” Zayn asks, giving Harry a questioning little frown, waiting for Harry to confirm or deny it. Harry gives a single nod.

“Only briefly.”

Zayn keeps his eyes on him. They're just a bit narrowed and Harry tries not to squirm under his gaze.

“You don't like Gigi?” Zayn asks, and Harry opens his mouth a little too soon, before he sees the hint of a smile in Zayn's eyes. Harry relaxes. He doesn't know exactly where this conversation is heading, mood-wise, but he doesn't intend to be anything but honest. Not mean. But honest.

“I don't know her,” He shrugs, a tight-lipped smile on his face and Zayn's eyebrows raise just a little bit.

“You know she's a big fan,” he says instead, lifting the glass to his mouth. Harry frowns sceptically. “Or, a fan at least,” Zayn shrugs, taking another sip.

“Of me?”

“No,” Zayn breathes out a laugh at Harry's slight glare. “Of the band.”

Harry nods in acknowledgment. “Not anymore, I'm guessing.” He chuckles, and Zayn shrugs happily, making Harry roll his eyes.

“You know I did listen to the album,” Zayn says after a moment's silence. Harry looks up at him. There's a small smile on his face, but Harry can see the self-consciousness in his eyes.

“Yeah? Thoughts?”

Zayn twists his lips, thumbing at his glass. “I liked bits of it,” he says and Harry chuckles again, Zayn's smile growing. “Right.” Harry says, leaning his arms on the worktop.

“You sounded great,” Zayn nods along to his own words. “ _You_ did.”

Harry pointedly does not blush, but can't help but smile awkwardly.

“Thanks. I'll let the boys know.” Zayn laughs.

“Well, you know,” Harry continues in a joking manner once he's let Zayn's words roll over him. “We do our best,” Zayn looks at him pointedly. “I do my best,” Harry rolls his eyes and Zayn smiles contentedly. “It's no Mind Of Mine, but,” Harry shrugs, consciously and visibly ignoring Zayn's sudden face of recognition. Harry is smiling once he makes eye-contact again.

“So you did listen to it,” Zayn's voice sounds triumphant and surprised and a tiny bit hesitant all at once.

“Did you think that I wasn't going to?” Harry asks, and Zayn self-consciously shrugs one shoulder. Harry studies him for a bit, letting all of the memories of his feelings when listening to Zayn's album from beginning to end rush through him once more. “It was really good.” he says, voice low and completely genuine. Zayn bites his lip, looking at him with expectant eyes. “Really, really good. I really enjoyed it.” If Harry sounds proud, it's because he is. So fucking proud. And Zayn does blush, making Harry copy the smile on his face that he can't hold down anymore.

“Really?” Zayn asks.

Harry hums in affirmation. “That first single, what's-its-name,” Harry says, acting like he doesn't remember and Zayn gives him an unimpressed look, still smiling. “Banger. Didn't care much for the video though.” Harry says, before he can stop himself, still keeping that air of light-hearted banter in his voice. Zayn gives him a look of mild suprise and intrigue.

“No?”

Harry makes a sound in his throat. “No. Was a bit too saucy for me.” Zayn laughs. It's not the actual reason for Harry's dislike of the video. Well, it is, but not in the way he is making it sound. He watched it once, seeing Zayn and Gigi start to snog, and then that was that. A rewatch had not been necessary.

“Right,” Zayn says with laughter in his voice, nodding and looking down at where he's gripping his glass. “Duly noted.”

Harry nods. “Good.” before taking a sip of the lemonade, Zayn shaking his head at him over the glass.

“I liked your email,” Zayn says out of the blue before Harry can put the glass down. He disguises his surprise at the statement, trying to ignore the knot starting to form in his stomach. “Yeah, I could tell,” he jokes with a straight face, not missing a beat. Zayn breathes out a small laugh through his nose.

He shrugs a bit. “I just needed some time, innit. Or a couple of months.” He laughs shortly and Harry nods.

“It's okay. I mean, I can't really talk, can I,” Harry smiles bitterly at himself, running a hand through his hair. Zayn smiles at him, following his movements and they lock eyes for a moment, Harry letting his hand fall to grasp the cold glass in front of him.

“I was massively upset with you,” Zayn says bluntly, and Harry nods. They haven't actually discussed any of this through their texts. It's not like Harry was avoiding it, not necessarily. Maybe a little bit. But it didn't seem like an awkward subject they were both pointedly and conciously tip-toeing around. It just felt so good to be talking again, that it didn't really matter at first. But of course it matters. And Harry has so many things to say to Zayn about the last year. He just doesn't know where to start. And if Zayn never wanted to ever mention any of it again then, Harry thinks he could be okay with that too. He's not sure if he was expecting this conversation. Probably. He must have been. He's not an idiot. It's been a long time. But Zayn needs to talk about it, and Harry needs to hear what he has to say, whether he wants to or not.

“I know.” he says. “I'm sorry.”

He never thought those two words would feel so good to utter. But they do. He knows that it's not enough, and that time will have to heal whatever wounds they've caused each other. But he means it. He really does.

“I was really scared to contact you, after...” Zayn trails off. He doesn't need to say it because Harry knows. “I'm sorry, babe.” Hearing Zayn's words in person like this hits him harder than Harry was expecting. In every single way.

“I know.” He says. He's not angry. Not anymore. Just relieved.

“You know why I did it though, don't you?” Zayn keeps his eyes firm on Harry, wanting him to fully understand. Harry still doesn't, not completely, and now seems as good a time as any to ask.

“Why did you do it?” He asks, voice soft. He doesn't realise that he's been waiting to hear this for all this time, not until now, and he holds his breath. Zayn looks like he's debating with himself, on whether to tell Harry or not. The truth at least. He bites his lip before speaking.

“Because I knew that if I saw you again before I left, I might not have been able to go at all. And I wanted to go. I needed to.”

Harry doesn't know what he was expecting. For a moment all he can do is look into Zayn's eyes, letting the words float through him completely. All of a sudden, it really all does make sense. It doesn't make the pain he experienced any easier to deal with. But somehow, it feels like he already knew. Had these thoughts been allowed to fill his head a year ago, he doesn't really want to think about how they would have manifested themselves. What they would have made him think, or do. As it is now, he just feels resigned. He's taken it, he's accepted it. That's it.

Zayn is still waiting, an expectant look on his face. He's sure of himself and of his own words Harry can tell, but there's still that hint of hesitance lingering in his eyes.

Harry nods.

“Yeah,” he starts. “I get that now. I do. I did then as well, probably.” he looks down at his hands. “Yeah. It was just hard, wasn't it.” his lips are pressed in a thin line as he looks back up at Zayn, who is nodding in complete understanding. They're the only two who really can. No one else was involved in this, this absolute mess of emotions. Just the two of them. For all this fucking time. It feels oddly comforting somehow.

“It was.” Zayn says softly.

Harry shakes his head to himself, eyes on the glass of lemonade in his hands, the droplets of condensation slowly travelling down towards the stone surface.

“I'm so fucking glad you texted me. The second time,” He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but Zayn is smiling when he looks up. “Was just what I needed,” Harry goes on. “You know, newly bald, and heading off to a place I'd never been before.” Zayn starts laughing properly at Harry's description of his new hairdo, and Harry grins to himself, chuckling along and smiling at Zayn's crinkled eyes.

“It actually looks nice though,” Zayn says, still laughing, but trying to keep his voice as genuine as possible. Harry pouts in disagreement. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Do you think it looks horrible?” he asks Harry, making him shrug with a sour look on his face.

“I've gotten used to it, the look of it. It's just styling it, is a fucking nightmare.” he mutters, hand raised to fiddle with the top bits of hair, trying to act bothered but not being able to keep the little smile off his face as Zayn looks at him, shaking his head with a grin.

“You've styled it?” Zayn asks, and Harry pouts properly, letting his hand drop quickly to be able to glare at Zayn accordingly. Zayn laughs heartily again at the look on Harry's face and Harry keeps up the pout.

“Rude.” he grumbles. “What about you then?” he says, trying to come up with a retort. Zayn raises his eyebrows, grinning expectantly. “What about me?” he pushes. Harry tries to think, before glaring again.

“Whatever. You look good.” Zayn sniggers and Harry shakes his head with a small smile.

“You look younger, kind of,” Zayn says, eyeing Harry's hair again. Harry frowns slightly. “Is that good or bad?”

Zayn shrugs casually. “Just. Different, like.” Harry's frown grows deeper.

“Younger, what- I look like a school boy, or what do you mean?” he pushes, trying not to whine too much. Zayn huffs out a laugh, looking up at the ceiling before letting his forehead fall onto the back of his hand, bringing the other up to rub at his head, groaning exaggeratedly at Harry's antics, Harry just grinning at the whole ordeal. “Nevermind,” Zayn sighs, smiling tiredly, and Harry's eyes linger on his hands. Only two fingers on his right hand have rings on them and a thought flies into Harry's head.

“You've been wearing my ring,” He says simply, out of nowhere, and Zayn understandably freezes for just a moment before looking down at his hands. None of the rings he's wearing at the moment is the one they now both have in mind, the sight of them just making Harry remember the fact. The pictures he's managed to see on his timeline, of Zayn with his ring in a chain around his neck, many months ago. It had made his heart get lodged in his throat when he'd seen it, and just the thought of it now still has him feeling that recognisable warmth floating through his body.

“Oh, yeah,” Zayn starts, voice just a bit unsure, as if he's not quite sure where he is heading with this. “Yeah, I- yeah,” he goes on, stuttering just a little bit, the topic being sprung upon him. “You've really been on your shit,” he chuckles quietly – Harry along with him – before nodding, looking down at his rings and automatically starting to fiddle with them, twisting them around his fingers. “Yeah, I have, but, uhm... I lost it, actually.” Harry tries not to let the disappointment show too much on his face. But Zayn still isn't looking at him. “Don't know where exactly, but, yeah. Could be anywhere. Sorry.” he goes on, finally meeting Harry's gaze again. He does look very apologetic, but Harry just shrugs.

“That's okay,” he says gently. And then, before he can stop himself: “It was yours to lose.”

Zayn's hands stop fiddling, and he lets them rest against the worktop. Their eyes lock for a moment, lingering on each other, the both of them letting the silence fall over them. A small smile creeps onto Zayn's face, and Harry finds himself copying him. There's something very intimate there. Harry has seen that smile before, and while it's one of his absolute favourite things to get to witness, he tries deftly to not remember when he saw it last.

Zayn sighs gently, looking back down at the countertop and letting both palms glide up and down on the white surface, back and forth towards Harry. Harry watches intently and quietly, following his every movement, as Zayn suddenly moves forward to grab at Harry's glass, leaving his hands empty, and putting it aside, before gently but swiftly grasping at Harry's hands and laying his cheek down against them. Everything inside Harry does a five foot jump and he smiles, feeling his face flush up and a tiny lump form in his throat, watching Zayn looking so comfortable just lying there, holding onto Harry, head resting against their hands. He doesn't even attempt to stop himself as he leans down to touch his lips against Zayn's hair in a soft kiss. Zayn's hands tighten on Harry's and Harry closes his eyes. Right in this moment, he feels happier than he has in over a year's time. Right in this moment, everything is worth it.

Harry pulls away just an inch before dropping another kiss onto Zayn's head, and then Zayn is lifting himself up slowly. He moves back to sit properly in his seat but stays close, leaning over the worktop between them, their hands still holding onto each other. Zayn's eyes are on their hands before he looks up at Harry again. Harry keeps his gaze steady, both of them smiling softly. They don't need to say anything, Harry feeling so content as he starts to gently stroke his thumb over where he has a hold on Zayn. It's all so perfect, so peaceful, that Harry barely notices what he's doing, as he leans in to close the space between them.

For a second, Zayn doesn't react. Harry's lips aren't forceful against him, but they linger, Harry having closed his eyes after leaning in. He doesn't think, about anything, but the feeling of Zayn's lips against his. Until he feels Zayn start to kiss him back. His heart doesn't have time to catch up though, before Zayn is pulling away, letting go of Harry's fingers and standing up. His chair makes a harsh sound against the floor and Harry is awoken from his daze. Zayn's hands are on the island, but he's not looking at Harry.

“Zayn,” Harry starts, but Zayn just shakes his head, his hands moving up to his face, palms pressing into his eyes, and Harry feels so guilty.

“Nah,” Zayn gets out, not seeming to know how he's even supposed to react. Harry doesn't either, he doesn't know what's happening, at all, but he sees his hands travel over the countertop to try and reach Zayn's arms, to pull his hands down from his face. Zayn flinches violently, moving his hands away quickly, one of them managing to make contact with his glass of lemonade and have it fly down from over the edge and onto the floor. It shatters and the both of them watch in shock, before Harry automatically gets up to do something, anything.

“Watch it,” Zayn says instinctively, moving over to Harry with outstreched arms, pushing him aside so he won't try to walk into the shards of glass. Harry in turn grabs a hold of Zayn's elbow as he stupidly takes a step over the liquid on the floor anyway, winding up on the other side by Harry, and that's all that it takes, feeling Zayn's arm under his hand. It's all that it takes for Harry to turn him towards him and go in for another kiss.

It's better and worse all at once. Better because now Harry has the chance to properly take in what's happening, to feel Zayn against his lips, to feel the warmth of his body where Harry is holding onto his sides. But this time, Zayn only needs a second before he can come to his senses and push Harry away. He's also got a grasp of what they're doing and his hands come up to press against Harry's shoulders, pushing him further from him, gently, but firmly. But Harry doesn't even flinch, his mind is filled with one goal only which is to put his lips back on Zayn and he grabs onto where Zayn is holding onto him, using the grasp on his hands to pull him back and moves in once more. He's barely got his mouth on him before Zayn is moving away, breaking free from Harry's grasp and fitting his fingers around Harry's wrists. His movements are strong, and they're coupled with words that Harry doesn't want to hear, making him regain his focus, bit by painful bit.

“No, no, no, no,” his voice is gentle, but rushed, and Zayn is shaking his head, keeping his hold on Harry and not letting him come any closer. Harry doesn't, he just keeps his eyes on Zayn's face, feeling how his breathing has quickly become heavier. Zayn still shakes his head as he looks down at where he's holding Harry's wrists, watching as Harry's arms twist in his grip to be able to hold onto Zayn's in turn. He doesn't make a move to attempt anything else. He just wants to hold him.

“Harry,” Zayn breathes out as he lifts his gaze to look at him. He looks so confused and Harry wants to help him understand, to wipe that look off his face, but he doesn't quite know himself. All he knows is that he wants him. Every single bit of him. That's all he's ever wanted. Harry smiles instead, still breathing slowly and deeply, and breaks one arm free from Zayn's loosening grip. He cups Zayn's cheek for a moment, before moving to stroke over his hair, and Zayn lets him, still just looking at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Until Harry takes a miniscule step to move closer and Zayn grabs the hand on his face and takes a step away, his back touching the kitchen island behind him. Harry swallows, their eyes locked on each other.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks softly, his voice just a bit on the breathless side. Harry just stares, tongue-tied, and shaking his head.

“I don't know,” he breathes out, trying to move his hands up again but Zayn is quicker this time, keeping them down between the two of them in a firm grip.

“Babe, you can't,” Zayn drifts off, shaking his own head, but it's a different kind of shake and Harry sighs out roughly.

“No, I can't,” he says, and Zayn looks up. “I can't, Zayn. I thought I could but I can't, just- I need to- I need you,” he's barely making sense but by the look in Zayn's eyes, he doesn't need to say much else.

Zayn sighs defeatedly, looking down again. “Fuck's sake,” he mutters, more to himself than to anything Harry has done, he can tell. “I thought we were done with this.”

“I'm not,” Harry says immediately, making Zayn look back up. “I'm not done.” He's staring so intently into Zayn's eyes, trying to convey with just one desperate look all that he means, all that he feels. But Zayn just looks tired.

“This isn't what you want,” he says gently. Harry nods his head in discombobulated disagreement.

“It is,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face, with the realisation of the truth behind his own words. It is. This is what he wants. Zayn.

“No, it's not,” Zayn says, not looking the least bit convinced, and so sure of himself that Harry frowns. “It's not,” he repeats, shaking his head, trying to get the message across to both of them. “It's not what _I_ want.” Zayn clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes on Harry's.

The small smile falls from Harry's lips slowly. For a second they're both silent.

Harry doesn't wanna ask. He really doesn't. He's been a fucking idiot, and he's realising that now, with Zayn's last words. He doesn't want to ask. But he can't stop himself.

“What do you want?”

Zayn waits a few seconds, his gaze flitting between Harry's eyes. He swallows.

“I want Gigi.”

What Harry says next will haunt him forever. It's a stupid fucking thing to say and he knows it is. But the flood of emotions overcoming him in that single moment, is enough for him to forget every sense of rationality that he's ever been taught, that has ever entered his brain. It all falls into nothingness, and all that is left is anger. Anger and hurt, in the worst possible combination.

“Bullshit.”

He can hear the venom in his voice, and he feels his heart start to beat at double the pace as Zayn's face falls completely. It only takes a second, before a frown appears on his face, as if he's not sure he's heard correctly. There is nothing to brush aside the comment, the tone of Harry's voice letting Zayn know exactly how he really feels.

“What?” he still says, having dropped Harry's arms in an instant.

“Fucking bullshit,” Harry blurts out, and watches Zayn's frown get properly deep. He looks angry, and Harry doesn't judge him. But he can't stop. Zayn seems shocked so Harry just keeps going, letting the silence spur him on even further.

“You want a happily ever after, someone to come home to, someone to miss you when you're away. You want to know that there's someone waiting for you, wherever you are, and you think this is her? You thought it was Perrie, and now it's Gigi? Fucking _bullshit_ ,” Harry puts extra push on his last word. Zayn looks absolutely shell-shocked, and Harry clenches his teeth in defiance, waiting for what's coming. Say something then. Just fucking _say it_.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Zayn says, and that same anger is still on his face, shock, and anger, like he can't fully register what is coming out of Harry's mouth. He's somehow still giving him the benefit of the doubt, even though Harry has already crossed the line from upset to downright ruthless bitch, but with Harry's next words, he doesn't have to wonder anymore.

“I'm talking about you, you fucking serial monogamist,” Harry throws out, and Zayn flinches back slightly, looking at Harry as if he's gone completely insane. “You go around acting like everything's fucking sunshine and flowers, that you've finally found someone you're gonna spend the rest of your life with, trying to act like no one's around to see you pissing it all away by fucking someone else at the same time. You're so full of shit, Zayn.”

Zayn's jaw has completely dropped, and he stares at Harry with wide eyes. Harry can feel his own rapid breathing and he is just about to throw something else out before Zayn finally finds his footing, his eyes glaring daggers at Harry, looking at him in a way that Harry's never seen before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He bites out. “This is fucking rich coming from you, mister 'I'm too fucking scared of commitment so I never let anyone get close enough because the thought of a serious relationship is just too much to stomach'. You're gonna come at me for trying to find someone that I can love? Who can love me back just as much and who I can be happy with? That's a fucking crime is it? At least I'm brave enough to let my true feelings show when I like someone, not like you who never say a single shit and make people think that you care, when really, you just wanna get your fucking dick wet!”

Zayn spits it all out in one breath and Harry doesn't even have time to react before Zayn is moving away, stopping quickly in his tracks at seeing the mess that is still on the floor and gingerly moving over to the other side of the kitchen island. It gives Harry the time to take it all in, and in his frantic mind, he doesn't even bother to focus on the hurtful things, getting straight to the point now, because Zayn doesn't get it and he needs to.

“I do let my feelings show, but it's fucking hard when the person doesn't bother to want to see them, is it? It's not my fucking fault for getting into it with someone who doesn't give a shit.” he blurts out, not making a lot of sense, hands on the countertop to try and steady himself.

Zayn just shakes his head, barely seeming to have even listened to what Harry is saying. He looks up at the ceiling again before groaning and moving his head back towards Harry to run through his hair. His hands slap back against his thighs and he looks at Harry, confused and still so angry.

“What are you- what the fuck are you doing, Harry? What is this? Why now?” He looks so fucking disappointed and frustrated that Harry almost wants to back down completely, but he can't, not now, not when he's already come this far.

“You didn't give a shit, did you?” He doesn't know why he's tormenting himself like this, but somehow he feels like if he gets a solid and blunt answer right now, then that will be it. That will be what he needs.

Zayn sighs and clenches his jaw, shaking his head. He looks so hurt, so upset, and Harry doesn't break their gaze. “You're such a fucking dickhead.” Zayn says. Harry stays quiet a moment, before something inside him wants to throw out a hurtful retort but before he can, Zayn is shaking his head again.

“We're done, Harry.” He says, loud and clear, and Harry stills. “We've been fucking done. If that's what you're talking about.” He sounds bitter, angry, and maybe just a tiny bit sad. The way he looks at Harry, it's gut-wrenching, in every single way, the disappoinment, the exhaustion, the still faint shock at the turn of the once peaceful air between them.

“Yes, I want stability,” Zayn goes on, voice firm and daring Harry to say something in return, something to mock his statement, or make him try and seem like he's lying, or talking shit. “Yes, I want someone to come home to, someone who will always be there for me, regardless of everything else. I wanted it then and I want it now. But that was fucking years ago, and not everything's the same anymore. And don't fucking act like I was the one in the wrong, you knew exactly what the fuck you were getting yourself into, and you took advantage of it. Don't come here and try to act like I broke your fucking heart when all you ever wanted was someone to fuck anyway.”

It hurts. It fucking hurts, and Harry is frozen. Zayn continues, having been given more and more confidence with every word.

“That's always been what you want,” he says, and all of a sudden the anger is replaced with sadness, and the tone of his voice sounding like he's trying to get Harry to understand what he's saying, to confirm it. “And that's fine. I get that, I fucking got it. We want different things you and me,” Zayn swallows, his frown still on his face but his voice has calmed down. His eyes are still firm and he's not backing down, and all Harry can do is listen, while unknowingly giving Zayn the confirmation that he's seeking. “That's what it's about. That's what it's always been about. So just- don't.” he finishes, his voice almost pleading.

Harry shakes his head.

“How the fuck do you know what I want?” He says, and Zayn sighs and rolls his eyes, looking out of the large kitchen windows. “Huh?” Harry goes on. Zayn doesn't look at him. Harry's not saying it. He hasn't said it, those few words have yet to leave his mouth but he doesn't get the chance to because Zayn is done. Zayn looks so done.

“I'm with Gigi now.” he says, looking back at Harry. His eyes are near devoid of emotion, but Harry isn't finished.

“What if you wasn't?”

It's a brave try. It's not what he wants to say, but it's something and Harry holds his breath. He is scared. Zayn is right. But he's trying.

“It doesn't matter,” Zayn says softly, still with that horrible near emotionless expression. “Because you're not what I need. You're not.”

That's it. If Harry wasn't clear on what it would take for him to finally break then this is where he can stop wondering. Because that's it. Zayn keeps his gaze on him. Harry doesn't even want to know what he looks like but it can't be good, because Zayn turns his face down.

“Sorry,” he whispers quietly, leaning against the breakfast bar behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Harry can feel the coldness of the kitchen island under his fingertips. But that's about it.

Zayn sighs heavily and lets his head roll back on his shoulders, once again moving to look outside. He bites his lip briefly before turning to Harry again.

“I think you should go now.” he gets out, looking down at the island seperating them still, sniffling sharply, as if he's suddenly got a stuffy nose.

Harry feels a breath entering his lungs, and he nods suddenly, following Zayn's gaze. He keeps nodding. Then he walks out. He hears Zayn sniffle one more time before he closes his front door behind him.

 

 

Sitting in his car on the way home Harry tries to keep his breathing calm. He feels nothing. It's a weird state of mind to be in, but he'll take it over excruciating agony, any day.

The radio is on, playing in the background as he sits in traffic at a stoplight. The song ends and the chords start to play, Harry not fully registering them in his mind before Rick Springfield's voice starts to croon. He slams his hand on the dashboard, turning the radio off in a second.

“Fucking _shit_.”

So much for nothing.

 

 

Precisely three days of radio silence follow until Harry does the unthinkable and pulls himself from off the floor and calls Zayn. He doesn't answer, and Harry wasn't expecting him to. But he leaves a voice message nonetheless.

“ _Hi. I'm a fucking idiot. And I'm sorry. I don't know what the fuck came over me and I don't expect you to be able to brush it all off but... I just... You're worth so much more than this shit. Than my shit. It's just- fuck it. I love you, Zayn. I do, you know I do. And I'm sorry. For being a prick and not just letting you be the friend that I know you want to be. Anyway, I just- this isn't much but it's still- I just want you to know that I know what a dickhead I am, and I know it's seriously early days but, I'd really love for you and Gigi to come to the premiere. It would be really nice. To have you there. The both of you. Anyway, fuck, I'm rambling, but. Yeah, that's- Yeah. Genuinely. Give me a call when you can. If you want. I'll pick up._ ”

 

-

 

The feeling of familiarity and comfort is stronger than anything else when Harry makes eyes with Zayn on the red carpet.

Harry is stood doing an interview as Zayn and Gigi walk past behind him and a smile immediately creeps onto Harry's face, distracting him from the question he's just been asked. They quickly pass, but Zayn puts a hand on Harry's arm as they go, Harry having time to grasp onto Zayn's elbow in greeting, their eyes meeting happily, before they advance further down the carpet, leaving Harry following them with his eyes as Zayn turns around to look over his shoulder and give him a funny wink. Harry grins back before pulling himself together and turning back to the woman holding the microphone and smiling up at him, excusing himself for getting off-track.

In the slight distance, he hears the paparazzi call Zayn's name, and he can't help the smile that falls over his face.

 

-

 

When Zayn breaks up with Gigi in the late summer of 2017, Harry is stunned. He can't say he was expecting it, the only people really being able to being Zayn and Gigi themselves, but when the news hits him, he is stumped. Completely and utterly stumped.

He doesn't contact Zayn. His first instinct is to text him, to ask him how he is doing, even though when the news reaches Harry's ears, it must have already been a done deal for a while. But he doesn't. That small voice in the back of his head gets squashed quicker than anything, and he ignores everything that his gut is telling him. Him and Zayn have been fine for a while, their friendship, or at least sense of amicability being magically saved by Harry's own courageous doing after just about managing to fuck it all up all over again. It's been fine, but it hasn't been the same. It's Harry's own fault and he knows it. In a perfect world, a world where Harry could shake his head and tell Zayn that he's wrong, that he isn't scared. In that world, Harry would have tried even harder to gain back his full trust and respect. But Harry is scared. Probably not for the same reasons that Zayn thinks, but he is. And he remembers everything Zayn said to him that day in his kitchen, and how it made him feel. The look in his eyes when he said it. The force of his tone. He remembers.

He's not what Zayn needs. That thought has etched itself in his brain, and with every day, Harry starts to believe it more and more. With or without Gigi, Harry is not what Zayn needs.

So he doesn't text. At all.

He did this to himself after all. Self-preservation. Harry should have kept that close. But he didn't. And he brought this all on himself.

None of these thoughts and conclusions make it any easier to deal with reading in the papers that Zayn has moved on yet again.

David, he's called. And he's a model, and he has dark hair, a perfectly stubbled chin and an undeniably gorgeous smile. And he looks at Zayn in a way that makes Harry want to rip the magazine he's holding into tiny little pieces. It's December in LA, and Harry jumps on the next flight back to England.

 

-

 

Zayn has the courtesy of texting Harry about going to the after party on the morning of the awards show.

Harry had been bricking it enough already, it being his first ever time at the Oscars, his first starring role in a movie, that also, to no one's surpise, had been nominated for as many as six different awards. It's a big day, the biggest day, and Harry had barely been able to contain his excitement. Zayn's text had come during breakfast, Jeff running around and talking loudly on the phone as Harry sat at his dining table, trying to get down at least an energy bar to make him last the day. He'd given it a second of look, before locking his phone and asking a very stressed Jeff if there would be food at the theatre.

It's not until he's standing here now on the balcony of the luxury villa, that the situation fully hits him, seeing Zayn and his boyfriend through the glass walls of the estate, entering the room with Champagne flutes clutched in their hands. The hands that aren't holding onto each other, and Harry needs to turn around for just a moment. It's a lovely day in Los Angeles, as usual, and Harry takes in the view for a bit, breathing in the smell of the ocean and tuning out the chatter and laughter around him. He stepped out to get some fresh air in the first place, the whole day having been one of the most hectic and emotional he's had in a good while. He'd been so happy, so elated with the large win at the awards show, getting ready to celebrate with the rest of the crew throughout the night, before a sharp sense of fatigue hit him and he had to get away for a minute. For just a moment, he had managed to forget. For just a moment, he had been on top of the world.

Zayn looks amazing. That's the thing that lingers most in his brain as he looks out at the ocean before him. All it took was a couple of seconds for everything to hit him at once, for Harry to take in all of Zayn. His clothes, his hair. The look of excruciating happiness on his face. Harry takes another large breath. He has time to shake his head one last time, trying to get some semblance of reality into his brain before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't need to hear a voice to know exactly who it is.

“Hi.”

Zayn's voice is soft and gentle, and he's smiling at Harry as he turns around to face him.

“Hi,” Harry pushes a smile onto his own lips, answering Zayn's greeting as quickly as his pained chest and mind will let him.

They stand looking at each other for a moment, the air just a little bit awkward, Zayn still with a smile on his face, before he moves in quickly to give Harry a hug. Harry lays his hands on Zayn's back purely on instinct. He smells incredible, and Harry clenches his teeth before they both pull back at the same time, a tight-lipped smile on his face as he meets Zayn's eyes.

“Congratulations,” Zayn breathes out, grinning, a hand coming up to nudge at Harry's shoulder and Harry lets a genuine smile creep onto his face.

“Thank you,” he nods, leaning back against the railing behind him and sticking his hands in his pockets. He's still in the suit from the show, but the jacket he has left in a closet inside. It's a warm evening despite the season, and Harry feels the wind flowing over his neck. A slight sense of deja vu overcomes him in an instant, and he makes an effort not to frown at the feeling.

“It's been a... strange day.” Harry says instead, and Zayn nods. “Amazing, but strange.” Harry smiles and Zayn copies his expression.

“I'm so proud of you, babe,” He says softly, that warm look in his eyes. The Champagne glass is nowhere in sight and Zayn stands fiddling with the rings on his fingers. They're all ones Harry has never seen before, he notes, as he lets his gaze flicker down for a moment. Harry shrugs, feeling a nice sensation float through him at Zayn's words, letting it overcome him for a moment.

“I know.” he says, looking up into Zayn's eyes. “Thank you.”

Zayn smiles, and the moment lingers.

“I'm sorry I-” Zayn starts, looking very sheepish all of a sudden, and maybe even a little bit flustered. Harry raises his eyebrows. He knows what's coming. “It was a bit short notice, I hope you're-”

Zayn is visibly struggling, and Harry has mercy on him.

“It's alright,” he says. It's not. 'Fake it till you make it', is that not how it is?

He bites his lip just a bit too hard. “Where is he?” he tries so hard not to make it sound like he is looking to check on his competition, and he must succeed because Zayn relaxes a bit. A slight flush is rising on his cheeks and a crooked smile finds its way onto his lips. Harry forces himself not to attempt to bite his own lip right off.

“He's getting a drink,” Zayn says softly, before turning to check over his shoulder. Harry gives himself the opportunity to pull in a large breath. “Probably getting stuck talking to just about everyone here,” Zayn turns back, a laugh in his voice and Harry musters up a small smile.

“You here alone?”

Zayn's tone is not bitchy or malicious in any way, Harry can tell. He's not asking to be mean. He wouldn't. But it still stings. Just a bit.

“I came with Jeff. But you know, I know some people here,” Harry says, voice deceivingly calm. Zayn scrunches up his face, shaking his head at himself.

“Yeah, of course, I didn't mean, like-” Harry lets him struggle for a while before feeling like the idiot that he is and smiling kindly at him, shaking his head. “No, I know,” he huffs out a small laugh, and Zayn does the same before they get quiet again.

“I already feel like an idiot, the smallest things seem to be setting me off,” Zayn says, an awkward laugh in his voice and Harry frowns. He's just about to ask why when he sees him approach out of the corner of his eye. Him. Harry swallows roughly, all of a sudden regretting the two glasses of wine he's already had.

Zayn's eyes are still on Harry, reacting first when a hand is layed on his shoulder. He quickly faces away, smiling up at him warmly.

“Thank you, babe,” Zayn says softly, taking the glass of white wine he's offered.

Harry locks eyes with the dark-haired man, who smiles at him politely in greeting before turning to Zayn with raised eyebrows. Zayn copies his expression before getting his wits about him and turning back to Harry.

“Oh, Harry, this is David. David, this is Harry,” Zayn rushes out, visibly nervous, fore some reason, Harry doesn't bother thinking about. He's too busy trying not to visibly act like he's sizing David up, instead immediately offering him his outstretched hand in 'hello'.

“I know,” David smiles, nodding at Harry and shaking his hand gently.

“Pleased to meet you, how are you?” Harry says, his usual dimpled smile firm on his face. He doesn't look at Zayn.

“Very good,” David says, in his American accent, his hand having moved from Zayn's shoulder to his side, Harry keeping his eyes firmly on anything else. David's face, and his pretty laugh lines as he looks down at Zayn. “We were just dropping by to check in on the vibe, I guess. We're heading to another party really, a friend is hosting it, one of Zayn's friends. But Zayn wanted to meet you, and say congratulations.”

David seems affected by the mood as well, blabbering just a little, and Harry can't help but find it slightly endearing. He nods along to his words, his gaze finally settling on Zayn as David finishes. Zayn is smiling warmly at his boyfriend, one of his hands holding the glass twitching just a little bit, as if he wants to reach over and stroke his face. Or maybe hold his hand.

“Well,” Harry says. “He found me.”

They both look at him, seeming to have been caught up in each other for a moment, and Zayn fixes a small smile at Harry instead. David nods before catching himself and shaking his head.

“Yeah, congratulations, wow,” he breathes out and Harry smiles politely. “I mean, I loved the film,” David goes on, looking to Zayn again who smiles and nods in agreement. “It was, honestly. Just, amazing. And your performance as well, I'd have never thought it was a debut, you really aced it.” He is noticeably rambling once again, a flush starting to appear on his face as he probably realises so himself, but his words are nothing but genuine, Harry can tell. He has to smile. He doesn't want to, but his conscience does not allow for anything else.

“Thanks, man,” he says, shuffling his feet a little bit as he stands leaning against the railing. “We're all very proud of it.”

Zayn smiles and David nods. “Yeah, you should be, of course,” David says, shaking his head at his own words and laughing nervously, though he seems considerably more relaxed at Harry's politeness. It's slightly amusing, Harry can't help but think. It's not like he's talking to his principle.

“Yeah, we've watched it one too many times I think,” Zayn laughs, looking at David. They share a moment and Harry wants to look away, but he fucking can't. Zayn looks happy. It's absolute torture.

“Yeah, really though. I would have been pissed if you guys hadn't won best picture, anything else would have been a fucking joke,” David says, half to Zayn and half to Harry. Harry forces out a little laugh and they both turn to him again. “Luckily we did, I might have thought something similar myself.” David huffs out a laugh and Zayn chuckles. A silence forms and Harry makes no move to do anything about it. Zayn is watching him intently and is just about to open his mouth to speak before David clears his throat gently, pulling Zayn into him with the hold on his waist.

“I saw Melanie in the other room, I think I'll go see how she's doing before we leave, yeah?” He says, in a tone that Harry knows is only meant for Zayn. He looks to the side along the large balcony, catching the eye of some people and smiling. Zayn mumbles something in response and Harry is forced to face them again as David speaks up.

“It was great to see you, Harry, I'll let you guys have a second to catch up without me butting in,” he laughs, Harry just smiling and nodding. Zayn rolls his eyes and locks eyes with David for a moment before his boyfriend walks back into the house. Harry does look away then, turning to lean his elbows against the railing.

“Wanna taste?”

Zayn's hand comes out in front of him, offering his glass of wine and Harry smiles and takes it. He takes a sip, bigger than usual before handing it back to Zayn who has come up to stand beside him, the both of them facing the water and the setting sun.

Zayn clears his throat softly and Harry waits.

“I know what you're thinking.”

Harry holds his breath.

“It's early and fast as shite, and I've just come out of a fairly long-term relationship, again-” Zayn's voice isn't angry, just sounding like he's been repeating what he's saying a fair few times. Harry shakes his head, stopping him.

“It's not what I think,” he says gently. Zayn looks at him, an eyebrow raised. Harry huffs out a humourless laugh. “Well. It's true. But it doesn't matter, does it?” Harry gives a small shrug. Zayn copies him.

“You're right. It doesn't.”

That's it.

Harry nods. “You shouldn't listen to me anyway, the fuck do I know about relationships.” he laughs again, at himself, trying to lighten things up but Zayn just shakes his head.

“Shut up,” he says gently, his eyes warm on Harry as Harry turns to look at him.

“We've know each other for a while actually,” Zayn says after a moment's pause, looking back out at the ocean, letting Harry watch his profile. He looks immaculate. Hair long again, and stubble growing in. The dying sun shines on the small rings in his ears, and if he looked at Harry now, he would be able to see it in his eyes. He listens to Zayn's next words. “He knows Gigi. She set us up and everything, how fucking twisted is that?” Zayn laughs quietly. Harry frowns.

“What?”

Zayn shrugs.

“We'd already been done for a while when we came to the premiere. We just didn't see the point in announcing it. We're still mates and stuff, so. Just seemed like an easy choice.” He looks at Harry. Harry can't see any pain in his eyes. That's all that matters.

“Sorry,” he still says, keeping the air of casualness between them. Zayn shrugs again, a half-smile on his lips.

“It is what it is,” he says softly. “Things end. S'just life, innit. It was for the best anyway. And I met David, so. It's worked out.” He smiles. Harry nods, not quite knowing what to say. His thoughts are suddenly a bit jumbled. Zayn goes on. “S'just. You're right and all but... I don't know. It just happened.” He shrugs again. He doesn't look sorry. He looks happy. Harry nods again.

“If it feels right, it feels right. Right?” he says, surprising himself.

“Right.” Zayn agrees.

“And I don't think I'm right.” Harry says, looking down at his hands that lay interlocked over the railing. “It's your heart, innit. Who's to say what you should and shouldn't do with it? If it feels right.”

Zayn hums. Harry swallows.

“Do you love him?”

He looks at Zayn, who is already watching him.

“I do.” Zayn says simply.

Harry nods. “That's good.” He says, voice barely more than a whisper.

All of a sudden, Zayn's eyes look sad. Harry can see them get wet before Zayn turns away to fix his eyes on the sea. He frowns.

“What is it?”

Zayn just shakes his head, but Harry pushes on.

“Why are you upset?” he asks gently, hearing how concerned he sounds. He wasn't ready for this, and he wants to undo it, whatever it is, that is making Zayn suck his cheeks in like he is now. Zayn huffs out a laugh, sniffling slightly.

“I don't know,” he says. Harry takes a tiny step closer, leaving just an inch of room between their shoulders.

Zayn sniffles again. “Fuck it,” he shakes his head at himself, a self-deprecating smile on his face as he looks down into his glass, shoulders up, giving another sniffle. “We really went through it, didn't we?”

All of a sudden, Harry has to fight his own eyes from welling up. All of a sudden, a lump the size of Texas is working its way up his throat. He keeps his eyes on Zayn's profile, Zayn, who is smiling again, but this time it's warmer, more genuine. Nostalgic.

“I'm glad we did.” Zayn says, moving to look at Harry. Harry smiles back. He loves this man. He loves him so much. It's worth it.

“Me too.” he gets out, voice calm and steady.

They keep their eyes on each other before Zayn shakes his head again, huffing out another laugh, this one wetter sounding than the others. He faces the ocean again, nudging his shoulder into Harry's, who doesn't bother to even try to look at anything but Zayn.

“Ridiculous,” Zayn mutters to himself, and Harry chuckles softly, making Zayn smile back at him, giving another sniffle.

“That Tom guy is cuter in person,” Zayn says, laughing as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he says, ignoring that excruciating feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is reality. This is good enough. Because Zayn is smiling. Really, genuinely smiling. That's the only reason. Ever.

They settle down a bit, Zayn still giggling to himself and Harry watching him with a smile.

“I'm proud of you too.” he says, and Zayn looks at him. Harry nods, a serious look on his face. Zayn clenches his jaw.

“Me too.”

They both let the moment linger before Harry breaks the gaze. He sniffles, seeing Zayn smiling at him out of the corner of his eye, forcing down one of his own.

“He was a bit nervous though, wasn't he?” he says, voice louder now and more casual. Zayn breathes out a laugh.

“Think he might just be a big fan,” He shrugs jokingly and Harry nods.

“You have good taste,” he says, waiting a moment before looking at Zayn.

“Of course,” Zayn says, a small smile on his lips. Harry makes himself keep eye-contact for a second longer than his heart is begging for. Zayn takes a large breath in, getting ready to say something before being interrupted by someone saying his name.

“Zayn?” Harry turns to look over his shoulder. David is standing in the opening of the glass wall. Zayn turns at his name and nods in acknowledgment. He stands up properly from where he's been leaning, Harry doing the same.

“Anyway,” Zayn breathes out, facing Harry again. Harry nods, sticking his hands back in his pockets.

“Yeah, I should probably get back to the others. They must think I've fallen over the edge or something,” he laughs gently. Zayn smiles.

“Nah, they'd have sent a search party ages ago. They'd miss you too much.”

Harry shrugs a shoulder and Zayn mimics him with a smile.

“Here,” he says, giving Harry his glass of wine. It's still pretty much full.

“I just wanted to see you,” Zayn says as an answer to a question Harry never asked. He nods. “Text me. Call me. If you want.” Zayn says gently, watching him closely. “I'll pick up.”

Harry just nods.

Zayn pulls him in for a hug, one hand cupping around Harry's neck, thumb brushing at the short hair, as Harry lays his free hand around his back. He closes his eyes, breathing in Zayn's scent one last time. That soft, sweet, yet masculine smell, along with a hint of tobacco. They pull away.

“See you, babe.” Zayn says, smiling over his shoulder as he moves towards the house, and David, who is still waiting for him.

“Laters,” Harry says, nodding at David in good-bye before looking at Zayn again as he leaves.

Zayn raises a hand to wave and then turns to David fully. They grasp each other's hands, and then they're gone, enveloped in a sea of people, the backs of their heads disappearing from sight.

Harry doesn't go back in right away. He stays on the balcony for a few more minutes, saying hi to people passing by him, sipping on Zayn's white wine.

There will be no texts, no calls, no emails. Not for a while. Harry knows that already, as he stands staring out at the now dark and moonlit ocean.

Self-preservation. Just until he can be sure. Zayn won't miss him. He'll be just fine. Happy. That's the only reason.

And so will Harry. He knows that now. But it's okay to be selfish sometimes. And Harry will need to be. Until he can be sure.

They'll both be just fine.

 

 

 

\- - -

 

 


	2. please don't take my sunshine away

\- - -

 

 

“God, I always have such a hard time finding shit in other people's kitchens that I've never been in before,” Zayn laughs to himself as he tries to find some cutlery in Harry's kitchen, Harry getting the food out of the bags and putting them on the kitchen island. He stops for a second after he's layed the first container out, a weird chill traveling up his spine as he looks at it laying on the countertop.

“You wanna eat at the dining table?” he asks, not paying any mind to Zayn mumbling to himself as he looks through the drawers by the breakfast bar. Zayn looks over his shoulder, first at the kitchen island and then at the dining table standing further away.

“Uhm, yeah, sure,” he says, before turning back around again. Harry moves everything over to the table, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, focusing on feeling hungry instead.

He turns to look at Zayn still standing in the kitchen. “You alright?” he asks with a small smile on his face. Zayn is holding the knives and forks in one hand and his phone in the other. He nods before putting it back in his pocket and coming over to the table to sit down.

“Just my mum, checking in to see what's up,” he says and Harry nods, sitting down opposite him and opening his food container. He got them both chicken burgers and Zayn hums at the smell of the food, making Harry smile to himself.

“She know about the project?” Harry asks quietly, trying to get a good grip on his burger and taking a large bite. He really was hungrier than he thought. Zayn nods, chewing on his own.

“She kinda encouraged me to do it. I was on the fence a bit, not gonna lie,” Zayn says once he's swallowed most of his mouthful. Harry huffs out a little laugh.

“Yeah,” He says honestly. “Me too.”

Zayn looks at him for a moment, an understanding look in his eyes. “Was kinda expected, innit. I'm glad you said yes though,” he says with a gentle smile and Harry feels his chest flutter. He clears his throat.

“Yeah, we'll see,” he jokes, forcing a blush away from his face. Zayn laughs. “Cheeky shit.”

Harry raises his eyebrows but Zayn just smiles, before complimenting Harry on the great choice of food. Harry rolls his eyes and tries his best not to grin too widely.

 

It's been really nice, just sitting at the dining table and having some lunch, chatting about whatever, the air of familiarity settling quicker than Harry would have expected. But then again, it always did with Zayn. No matter how long they'd been apart, once they got over that first initial state of extreme awkardness – at least on Harry's part – it was usually fine, and before you knew it, there they were. Sitting and laughing together, just like they always used to. Before things went to shit.

It's like it used to be. Almost. Because Harry didn't used to feel a massive sense of guilt falling over him when looking at Zayn, when thinking about how long it's been since he saw him smile like this, sitting right in front of him, looking happy as ever. It's Harry's own fault, but it still makes him feel like shit whenever he lets himself think about it. Which is more often than he'd like. He shouldn't have let it go this long. That's what he wants to believe, and he's starting to. Because being with Zayn like this, just like this. It's addictive, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that not allowing himself to have this was a good idea.

They've moved over to the sofa again, Harry leaning back against the cushions, one hand on his stomach and feeling like he could really do with a nap, while Zayn sits leaning forward, notepad back in his hand and his pen drumming against the paper.

“You think we should go with like a ballad or something?” Zayn muses, clicking his pen distractedly.

Harry nods lazily, trying his best to look involved while also attempting to let his stomach settle and not look like he's two months pregnant. “Yeah, sure.”

Zayn nods to himself, looking down at his notes, twisting his lips in a pout. Harry looks down at where his hand is rubbing small circles on his stomach.

Zayn hums to himself. “Or maybe like something slightly more up-tempo, something a bit cheerful, maybe?” He turns to look at Harry in question.

Harry looks up, nodding automatically at Zayn's words. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Zayn tilts his head to the side and sighs quietly. “You're really not feeling even a little bit inspired?” he says, the question more of a statement than anything else. Harry shrugs a shoulder. He's really out of his depts, and he feels just a bit uncomfortable with it all, but he brushes it off.

“I'm just... not really getting into it I guess.” he says, trying not to let a look of guilt fall on his face. Zayn doesn't seem to notice, looking like he's holding back another sigh.

“I'm not writing this myself, mate,” he says, a joking look in his eyes, but Harry can tell he is serious.

Harry huff out a humourless laugh. “You sure? Because I'll guarantee it'll be better than me putting my useless touch to it.” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Oh, come off it,” he does sigh then. “Come here,” he says, before going against his words and going to sit right next to Harry, side by side so they can both look at the notepad. “Now,” Zayn says in a very no nonsense tone. “Slow or up-tempo. Pick.”

 

It's nearing five in the afternoon when Zayn chances a glance at his wrist watch and gives a small sigh.

“I should probably get going, the fellas will be pissed at me for being away this long,” he mumbles to himself where he sits, still close to Harry. They've been trying to write for the better part of an hour, and not come to any grand conclusions, Harry trying half-heartedly to offer some poor attempts at ideas for the vibe of the song. Zayn has been getting visibly frustrated and Harry feels guilty. But he's just not feeling it.

He raises his eyebrows discreetly at Zayn's words, but doesn't ask any questions. It's better if he doesn't know, that much he can admit to himself.

“That okay?” Zayn turns to Harry, looking like he's genuinely wondering. Harry nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Zayn gets his stuff back in his backpack and Harry follows him to the door.

“You gonna walk?” Harry wonders, just about to ask if Zayn is gonna call a car to come pick him up.

Zayn shrugs as he gets his shoes on. “Yeah. It's not too far from here.” Harry frowns. It's a thirty minute walk at least.

“Are you sure? I could drive you if you want?” He offers automatically and Zayn smiles.

“I'm good,” he says simply. “Maybe something will come to me as I'm walking.” he shrugs again and Harry nods.

“Same time tomorrow?” Zayn asks and Harry stares for a second before pulling himself out of the temporary daze. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He opens the door and the gate for Zayn, who gives him a wave before disappearing down the driveway. Harry watches him go before closing the door and leaning up against it. He stands there just breathing for a while, and then he goes into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

-

Zayn arrives at one o'clock sharp the next day, in the same black car, and Harry squints at it as he stands in the doorway to let Zayn in like the day before.

“Who's being so kind to drive you?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant as Zayn is taking off his shoes and jean jacket.

“That's Griff, my mate. He works for me as well but, he's become more of a life partner, really,” Zayn laughs before padding down the hall into the kitchen, Harry following behind him.

“Still don't have a license then?” Harry asks as Zayn sits down at the kitchen island, pulling out his notepad from his bag. Zayn shrugs casually.

“Don't really need it,” Harry raises his eyebrows and Zayn smiles brightly. Harry has to turn away, but he huffs out a laugh just for appearance sakes. “Want a drink? Tea? Coffee?” he asks as he goes to the fridge to study the insides. Zayn hums from behind him and Harry turns back. “Coffee would be nice.” He smiles and Harry nods, going to prepare two cups for them.

Zayn is writing lazily in his notepad Harry notices as he sneaks glances at him while he's making the coffee. He's wearing a tight-fitted t-shirt today, white with a little stamp over his heart, and Harry has to force himself to look away, focusing on pouring the hot drink into the two cups before him

“Anything?” he asks as he puts a mug down in front of Zayn, sitting down opposite him with his own. Zayn hums again.

“Maybe. I don't know, I think your uninspiredness has rubbed off on me,” Zayn sighs, taking a sip of the coffee. Harry just shrugs, smiling slightly. He can't say he's too disappointed with this turn of events.

“We have time, don't we? They gave us a bit to write it, luckily,” he says, gingerly sipping from his own cup. Zayn sighs heavily.

“You're a bad influence, Styles. I was ready to bosh this,” Zayn fixes him with an overexaggerated look of disapproval, and Harry laughs. “I'm sure you will. _We_ will,” he adds quickly at Zayn's look. “Nothing wrong with taking it slowly though,” he says, and something in Zayn's look shifts. He looks like he's losing focus for a second and Harry is just about to ask him what's up before Zayn turns down to his notepad again, pushing it aside slightly. “I guess you're right.” He smiles a tight-lipped smile as he looks back up at Harry.

They're silent for a moment, Harry feeling the air in the room grow weirdly tense and before he knows it he's thrown out a question he's not sure he wants to know the answer to.

“So who exactly is waiting for you at home?”

Zayn looks up at him, looking like he's gauging Harry for a reaction, and Harry wonders if he might have said something stupid.

“My two favourite boys,” Zayn just says instead, giving a little smile, taking another sip. Harry must look a bit confused because Zayn quickly adds: “Rhino and Tiger.”

Harry freezes for a second, a strange sense of something akin to relief floating through him. Rhino and Tiger. The fucking pets. Idiot.

“Oh. Right,” Harry just says, trying to get his thoughts together so he won't leave a long pause. “Obviously,” he laughs awkwardly and Zayn looks at him with an eyebrow raised.

“They yell at you when you get back then?” Harry tries, ignoring the many thoughts going around his head. Zayn chuckles softly.  
“Nah, they're pretty good at being on their own. I try not to leave them for too long or too often, I don't really like being away from them, but,” he shrugs, and Harry nods. “They get along at least, which is a big plus.” Zayn chuckles again and Harry along with him.

“Is David not home in LA a lot?” he asks before he can stop himself, and immediately wants to give himself a slap for doing so. The ability to not keep his promises to himself when Zayn is around is starting to scare him just a little bit.

His own sense of self-hate makes him unaware of the way Zayn is looking at him all of a sudden, and Harry blinks to life as quickly as he can. Zayn seems to catch himself and looks back down at his coffee cup.

“Nah, he's in New York, I believe,” Zayn says, voice staying suspiciously casual and Harry allows a small frown of confusion fall onto his brows. “Oh. For what?” he asks. He's come this far. Why resist torturing himself for a little while longer. And the way Zayn is acting is making him curious, whether he likes it or not.

“He lives there.” Zayn says simply, looking up to face him again. Harry's frown deepens.

“We're not together anymore.” Zayn says, and a thousand alarms sound in Harry's head.

It's like a fucking brass band has set camp in there and Harry has to use all of his will-power to not all of a sudden act like one of the statues in Jeff's garden, immobile and completely frozen in time. How he manages to shake himself out of his trance, he doesn't know, but somehow he is coming back to life, Zayn still looking at him. He doesn't look particularly sad, just resigned, and maybe just a bit tired all of a sudden.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know,” Harry says, and Zayn lets a smile that's devoid of much happiness fall on his face.

“It's alright, it's been like six months anyway. We consciously tried to make it as small of a deal as possible,” Zayn goes on, looking pretty unbothered all things considered. “I don't know, maybe I'm just getting too old to be able to be bothered with all this fucking chaos that comes with getting in and out of relationships. It's always so much and I'm just over it. Who cares, like. Who needs to care except for the two of us.” Harry nods along to his words, getting it completely.

“I agree,” he says when Zayn finishes. “I mean, obviously I've never had to deal with being in the middle of a serious long-term relationship like that, and have everyone be all over it. But I get it.”

“You've had your fair share of media attention in that department,” Zayn says with a twist to his eyebrows that say that Harry is talking silly, as he takes a drink.

“Yeah, but they were just...” Harry trails off, looking for the right word. “They didn't mean anything.” he says simply, shrugging his shoulder. “I wasn't in love or... or too worried at all about how it would affect the two of us, me and them, it just... people like to talk, don't they? When you don't really care to begin with, it doesn't really matter.” he swallows as he finishes. The way Zayn is looking at him almost makes him want to grab at the words in the air and put them all back into his mouth. Almost.

“It didn't mean anything?” Zayn asks softly.

Harry shrugs again, looking down into his coffee. He searches for a clever response, but. There's nothing.

He shrugs again.

“I wasn't in love.”

He looks up and Zayn is staring straight back at him. A kind look in his eyes starts to appear.

“You don't need to be in love for it to mean something.” he says simply, and it's true, Harry knows that. But still.

“It just didn't,” he says, resisting a shake of his head, taking another sip of his coffee instead.

“Well,” Zayn says after a moment's silence. “I don't know how exactly, but, I'm gonna try and not be bothered about it all anymore, as much as I can anyway. There will always be rumours, but. So long as I know what's really going on then, fuck it.”

Harry can't say he ever realised that Zayn actually used to care this much about these kinds of things in the past. But thinking about it now, he understands how frustrating it must have been, trying to keep your relationship intact with everything going on around it. Maybe the thought was one that lingered in Harry's mind when he subconsciously decided that none of that was for him. Maybe that's what he had to tell himself.

“It's alright being single anway, innit?” Zayn goes on, looking very carefree all of a sudden. “Don't need to think about any of that, s'just me and the boys,” Zayn says, refering to his pets at home. “It's quite nice.” He smiles and Harry forces himself to agree.

“Indeed.” He says, trying to sound as breezy as Zayn. “I can't say I don't miss waking up to someone every once in a while, but. Yeah. It's decent.” he laughs slightly, and Zayn studies him.

“Does it taste alright?” Harry asks, nodding at the coffee. It's not the best question seeing as Zayn's mug is already half-empty, but Zayn seems to humour him anyway.

“Really good, thank you,” he smiles at Harry, and Harry takes another sip.

 

“I could come to yours tomorrow, if you want? So you won't have to leave them alone,” Harry offers as Zayn and him stand by the door, Zayn ready to leave, the two of them having made plans to see each other again the next day. They've gotten just about nothing done, but none of them are too stressed, yet at least.

“Uh, nah, it's cool,” Zayn says, looking like he hopes Harry won't push it. Harry puts the knowledge of that into the back of his head, but doesn't ask again.

“Or you could-,” he starts, getting an idea. He doesn't know if he should but he asks anyway. “You could bring them. If you want. That would be cool, too.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, stunned for a second, before he smiles. “Uhm, yeah. Yeah, I could do that. If it's okay. You sure?” he asks, looking at Harry like he's expecting him to change his mind but Harry simply nods his head.

“Yeah, definitely, bring them, I'd love that,” He smiles widely to make sure Zayn knows that he means it. Zayn nods back. “Okay,” he says happily, before hugging Harry good-bye.

Harry opens the door to let Zayn out. “I'll see you all tomorrow then,” he says, wanting to shake his head at his own ridiculousness, but Zayn just nods, a smile on his face. “Can't wait.”

Harry doesn't have any wine that night. Instead he goes to bed with butterflies in his stomach.

-

Rhino is one of the most well-behaved dogs Harry has ever met, not jumping or barking or anything as him and Zayn step inside the house the following day. Zayn has to actually talk to Rhino in a soothing tone as Harry stays back a bit to let them in, gently showing him inside with the leash in his hand as Rhino takes a few tentative steps, standing just inside the door and watching Zayn take off his shoes.

“Huh,” Zayn says as he straightens up, looking down at Rhino with a small frown. “He usually isn't this quiet. Don't be upset if he doesn't like you but, he usually loves people.”

Harry's face drops in a second as he stands looking at Rhino, getting ready to crouch down to greet him. Zayn bursts into laughter.

“I'm just kidding, don't worry, don't look so sad,” he giggles at Harry's expression, making Harry frown in confusion, looking from Zayn to Rhino and back again. “He doesn't like me?” he asks, disappointment evident in his tone and Zayn shakes his head, still grinning widely as he bends down to unclasp the leash from the chain around Rhino's neck.

“He's a very timid dog, just like his daddy,” Zayn says, cooing to Rhino and scratching behind both ears, making the dog wag his tail at his owner's affection, before standing back up. Harry manages to calm down the fluttering that wants to start up in his chest. “He's always very careful in new environments, you're fine,” Zayn smiles, and Harry finally dares to get down to Rhino's level, reaching out a hand slowly for Rhino to nose at.

“Hello, boy,” he says softly, and Rhino seems to make a quick decision, before he is licking at Harry's hand and letting him pet his head gently.

“See?” Zayn smiles as Harry looks up at him. “He loves you.”

Harry grins, turning back to Rhino, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his stomach.

“No Tiger?” Harry asks as he follows Zayn down the hallway to the living area and kitchen, Rhino padding along behind them, nosing on everything they pass by, his paws clicking against the floor.

“Nah,” Zayn says, dropping his backpack in one of the bar stools, unzipping it and pulling out his writing stuff. “He does fine on his own, he'd rather prefer the calmness, most likely just laying in the sun all day,” Zayn smiles, and Harry chuckles.

“Sounds ideal to me,” he says, eyeing the notepad on the kitchen island. “You want a drink?” he asks, opening the fridge and Zayn nods. “Just some water would be nice.”

Harry's just put the two bottles of water on the counter when he hears the little whine from behind him. They both turn to look at Rhino who is standing by the closed glass doors to the back, looking at the two of them expectantly.

“Oh, I'll let you out,” Harry says, quickly going over to open the doors, and Rhino bounds out onto the lawn. Harry grins as he watches him go, seeing the dog run all around the grass like a lunatic and Zayn chuckles from behind him.

“We should have walked here but I couldn't be arsed,” he mumbles as he comes up next to Harry to watch Rhino trot around the pool, exploring all of Harry's back garden.

“Bad owner,” Harry jokes quietly, and Zayn chuckles. “Yeah, a little bit. He's an energised little one though, he can never get enough of running around. Well, that's not true really, he loves to cuddle and lay around too. The best cuddle buddy you could ask for,” Zayn smiles, and Harry glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He has that soft look in his eyes as he watches Rhino on the lawn, and Harry forces himself to look away. They stand quietly for a while, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees surrounding the secluded garden, before Harry spots the little pink ball that's laying by the trampoline. Another toy for Jeff's little daughter, even though she is still a bit too young to be able to fully enjoy it.

He heads down the steps and towards the ball, enjoying the feeling of the grass beneath his bare feet and pulls the ball out from under the trampoline. Rhino has gone completely still when Harry looks back up, standing with his ears pointing straight up and Harry grins to himself as he looks back down at the ball, dribbling it easily from one foot to the other, glancing back at Rhino who is following his every movement, eyes wide and focused on the ball. Harry stops, before passing the ball over to Rhino who sprints to life, playing wildly with the ball for a bit before he comes back with it to Harry, leaving it at his feet and running further away, looking back at Harry who passes it again, Rhino getting just as excited the second time.

Harry can hear Zayn laughing from where he stands in the doorway still.

“You're never gonna get him to stop now,” Zayn says, coming down the steps. Harry just grins, dribbling the ball and making Rhino run in circles around him. Zayn plops down on one of the benches by the pool, smiling as he watches the two of them play, leaning back on his hands on the seat.

“God, I love it out here,” Zayn mumbles, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, basking in the sun. Harry stills for a moment as he watches him, both of them snapping back to life as Rhino barks. Harry whips his head around to face the dog who is standing and waiting expectantly for him to pass the ball back. Harry thanks Rhino for dragging Zayn's attention to him and not Harry, and grins at the excited pitbull, giving a hard pass over towards the guest house, making Rhino sprint away in a happy flurry. Harry goes over to Zayn as soon as Rhino has gone after the ball, sitting down beside him, the both of them watching as Rhino gets preoccupied, playing with the ball by himself for a while before coming back towards the two of them, Harry kicking the pink ball away as soon as he can get to it.

“Yeah, it's nice, isn't it,” Harry agrees with Zayn's previous statement, copying his pose as they watch Rhino abandon the ball and trot around to get a feel of the place, nosing at the trampoline carefully. “The sun must flow in pretty nicely at yours too, I'm guessing?” Harry asks, both of them keeping their eyes on Rhino.

“Yeah, it's good. The garden is like my favourite part of the place. It's a good thing to live over here where it's always warm, so you can get away with spending your time out of the house.”

Harry looks at him, squinting his eyes against the sun. “You don't like the inside of it?” he asks casually, before seeing the downtrodden look that has fallen over Zayn's face.

“I don't dislike it,” Zayn starts, and Harry listens. “S'just... I don't know. It's ironic how your own home can come to feel so unfamiliar. I almost feel like a stranger in my own house sometimes. S'just all the memories. It's like I don't belong there anymore. It's like living in someone else's house almost, it's weird. Come to think of it, I do hate it. Just a little bit.” Zayn looks down at the grass between his feet. “It's ridiculous, I know.” He laughs awkwardly. Harry shakes his head.

“It's not.” Harry says, watching Zayn's profile. “Did,” he starts. “Did David live with you before you split?” He is unsure of why he asks, but Zayn doesn't seem too fazed by it, nodding in response.

“Yeah. We lived together for over a year. When he left, it did change. It was too final in a way, like the closing of a chapter, and I've just been kind of left in the aftermath,” Zayn chuckles. “Like it wasn't me who fucking asked him to leave in the end.” He shakes his own head. Harry watches him for a minute.

“Do you miss him?” he asks quietly.

Zayn waits a bit, before he nods, and Harry tries to keep his breathing calm.

“Yeah,” Zayn says simply. “It's good that he left, and I don't regret breaking it off. I don't want him back or anything. But I do miss his company. I miss having someone to fall asleep next to. To wake up with.” Zayn shrugs his shoulder, watching Rhino roll around in the grass, a distracted smile on his face, before it disappears again. “I do my best to try and be okay on my own, and I manage most of the time. But you were always right about me,” Harry's heart stops for a beat.

“I do enjoy having my Someone,” Zayn shrugs again.

“Everyone does,” Harry says, looking at him intently. Zayn nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess so. This has been good for me though. Being single for a bit. I need to learn how to be on my own, because in the end, I'm the person who has to be stuck with me for the rest of my life,” he laughs a bit and Harry feels his heart start to beat faster. “I need to be okay with that. I just need to find a new place to be with myself for, honestly.” Zayn shakes his head lightly. “This got a bit deep for a Wednesday afternoon, didn't it?” he laughs, and Harry smiles. He looks back at Rhino who is laying peacefully in the shade by the trees. Harry swallows.

“Well. You're always welcome here, if you wanna get out of the house, at anytime.” he says, trying to sound as casual as possible. “All three of you.” He looks at Zayn who is already watching him.

“That's good to know,” he says softly, his eyes full of warmth, and Harry smiles, before he has to look away again.

“I've been spending a lot of time at Louis' actually,” Harry looks back in intrigue. “He's probably gotten a bit sick of me but,” Zayn shrugs happily. “I've got Freddie on my side, he's always happy to see me, which is all I care about,” he chuckles.

“You guys are alright then?” Harry asks. He hasn't been in great contact with Louis lately either. Lately meaning getting texts every now and again and finding ways to avoid responding to them. He has been busy. But if he really wanted to, he could have easily found a way to put aside some time. He just hasn't.

Zayn hums. “As good as gold. Bastard couldn't stay away in the end,” Zayn mutters with a small smile on his face, and Harry is just about to ask something else before Zayn sighs heavily and looks at his wrist watch. “Should we try and get some work done?” he manages to say before his phone is heard ringing from his pocket. Zayn frowns and gets it out, looking at the screen and huffing out a laugh of surprise. “Speak of the fucking devil,” he says and answers the phone, Harry raising his eyebrows in question.

“Yeah, what do you want?” Zayn says as a greeting into the phone, mouthing 'Louis' at Harry watching him and Harry nods in acknowledgment, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking down at his hands fiddling with his rings, feeling like he is interrupting a moment he shouldn't be present for. Zayn chuckles into the phone and Harry smiles at the sound.

“No, he didn't,” Zayn says with a smile on his face as Harry looks at him. “Why can't you just say that you wanted to see me? Is it really that hard?” Harry huffs out a chuckle and looks at Rhino, looking to be properly sleeping as he's laying in the grass. He tunes out Zayn talking to Louis, before he hears his own name, and his ears perk up.

“I'm at Harry's actually,” Zayn says, picking at a small hole on his jeans pocket. His face looks slightly guarded all of a sudden, and Harry looks down at where his hand is pulling at a loose thread. Zayn hums into the phone. “Yeah. We're just hanging a bit. Yep. Uhm, yeah, sure, hold on.” Zayn moves the phone away from his face slightly, looking at Harry who has his eyebrows raised already. “Do you fancy dropping by Louis' for a bit? He's yearning, I think,” Zayn laughs, and Harry just stares for a moment, not really knowing what to say. Zayn notices straight away and changes his tune slightly. “We don't have to, we do have a bit to do haven't we,” he shrugs, attempting to act like it's no big deal, and Harry shakes himself back to life.

“No,” he says quickly, and Zayn perks up a bit. “No, sure, we can go. That'd be fun,” he smiles and Zayn copies him immediately. “Yeah?” he asks, and Harry nods. “Kay,” Zayn says before going back to talk to Louis, whose distant voice is already heard through the phone before Zayn can even put it back against his mouth, and Harry resists an eye-roll.

Zayn hangs up finally, not bothering about trying not to roll his own eyes at Louis and pockets his phone, the two of them standing up to leave.

“Rhino?” Zayn calls gently, and Rhino lifts his head in an instant, Harry smiling as he stands behind Zayn, ready to go back up to the house.

“Come on, boy,” Zayn says in a cheerful voice, and Rhino is by his side in seconds.

-

“So why did you move back then?” Zayn asks as he turns back to face the road, having been petting Rhino who is sitting in the backseat of Harry's car as they wait at a stoplight on the way to Louis'. Harry takes a second, using the excuse of getting the car moving again to gather his thoughts.

“Uhm,” he starts, fixing the sunglasses on his face. “I don't know, I just... didn't feel as at home in the new place as I was expecting. It seemed like a good idea at the time, moving into a new house, getting a slight change of scenery, because the rest of my life was changing so, why not get a new place to go along with it,” he says, laying his arm on the window sill. He sees Zayn looking at him out of the corner of his eye and Harry clears his throat slightly. “It's kind of like what you were saying,” he shrugs. “I felt a bit like a stranger in my own home. It just didn't feel right. And I really did love my first house, my current house. It just felt more right, and I don't regret it at all,” Harry smiles, throwing Zayn a glance.

“Not even with the putting green on the roof?” Zayn asks with a grin in his voice. Harry almost laughs sheepishly before he frowns a bit. “How do you know about that?” he asks, a smile creeping on his face. Zayn laughs. “I know a lot more than you think.” he shrugs, leaning his head back on the headrest.

“That just sounds creepy.” Zayn laughs again. Harry shakes his head with a smile, looking both ways before making a turn up the hill. He clears his throat again. “Also a part of me thought it would be good to move back, because it's closer to you but,” he trails off, letting the wheel circle back in his hands. “I didn't really end up taking advantage of that.” he says softly, trying not to let the guilt reflect in his tone. He feels Zayn watching him and he chances a glance at him. He's wearing his own sunglasses so Harry can't see his eyes, but he's smiling.

“You should,” he says back in the same soft voice. Harry smiles back with his eyes on the road.

-

They're greeted by Danielle as the door to Louis' house opens, looking like she's on her way out, bag over one shoulder and calling to Louis down the hallway.

“Just off to a shoot, they're in the livingroom, hi,” she says in a rush, a big smile on her face as she quickly kisses both of their cheeks, giving an extra enthusiastic hi to Harry before she is out the door. They haven't seen each other for months and months and Harry feels the first hints of guilt as they watch her get in her car and drive out of the property. Zayn steps in with Rhino right away, without waiting for Louis to come and greet them, and Harry follows, closing the door behind them.

Louis' house smells of Play-Doh, is the first thought that enters Harry's mind as they take off their shoes at the door, Zayn walking ahead into the house with Rhino padding along by his side, calling out Louis' name as he rounds the corner into another room. Harry takes a deep breath before following him.

Louis is sitting on the floor in the big livingroom with Freddie between his legs, back against his chest and getting his hands sticky with the mint green dough that they're playing with. It doesn't look to be in the process of taking any particular shape, Freddie mainly seeming to enjoy getting messy more than anything else.

“Hello,” Zayn says in that voice he always used when talking to Brooklyn and Lux, and Harry feels a pang of warmth hit his chest, watching as Freddie looks up and puts his hands on his daddy's legs to get on his feet and sprinting into Zayn's open arms.

“Zaynie!” he shouts excitedly and Zayn scoops him up, pressing him against his chest and giving him a big kiss on the cheek, Freddie's arms going around Zayn's neck in an instant. Rhino stands by Zayn's feet, waggling his tail happily and looking from Zayn to Louis, caught up in the excitement. Louis smiles at the three of them, taking a few seconds longer to get up from his place on the floor, scratching a panting Rhino behind the ears with a big grin on his face on his way to greet Zayn as well before he spots Harry standing in the doorway, his eyebrows raising and a smaller smile falling on his lips.

“Hello there, stranger. Fancy seeing you in the neck of these woods,” he says, walking over and pulling Harry into a hug before Harry can come up with a good retort. “Last time I saw you was in the cinema,” Louis says, a hint of judgement in his eyes and Harry tucks a piece of hair behind his ear self-consciously. “Me and Danielle thought it'd be nice to go and check if you still look the same, we haven't seen you in forever, have we.” Harry sighs, nodding his head and rolling his eyes just a bit.

“Yeah, alright, I'm sorry. But I'm here now, aren't I?” he says, being over Louis' judging look very quickly. Louis crosses his arms, a half-hearted frown on his face. “Well, if Freddie doesn't remember you then it's your own fault for being a bad uncle.” he says, the both of them looking at Freddie and Zayn who are talking to each other in excited voices, both of them with eyes as big as saucers as Freddie tells Zayn about what he's done today.

“Of course he remembers me,” Harry says in a no-nonsense kind of voice, trying his best not to show on his face the worry he feels at the possibility of the contrary.

“Harry!” Freddie shouts out as Harry comes closer, reaching his chubby arms out to give him a hug, still sitting on Zayn's hip, Harry moving in to let him link his arms around his head. He can barely reach around him and Louis snorts, Harry sending him a small glare as they part again.

“See?” Harry says to Louis, resisting a look of childish victory. Louis rolls his eyes. “He's seen you on the telly, that's the only reason,” he mutters, turning his attention to his son before Harry can grunt out a response. “You're gonna show Harry and Zayn what you did with the Play-Doh, love?” he asks Freddie, and Freddie instantly nods, pushing at Zayn's chest and wiggling his legs to get him to put him down, Zayn chuckling and obeying to his wordless commands. He gets distracted by Rhino for a bit, giving the dog a hug as he sits on the ground by Zayn's feet, panting still but so well-behaved and completely still as the four-year-old says hello to him. Freddie gives him one extra kiss on the head before going over to Harry and pulls at his hand, getting him to sit down on the floor and being handed a blob of sticky dough as Freddie starts to chatter on in his little American accent about the horsie he's making of the play-doh. Harry chances a glance up at Zayn as Freddie goes on, having pulled Louis down as well to help him explain. Zayn is smiling down at him softly, and Harry smiles back.

“Come on then,” he says with a playful frown, reaching a hand up for Zayn to take, pulling him down swiftly. “We've got a horse to make.” Zayn laughs.

 

“I love when Zayn brings Rhino, because him and Freddie really do go crazy together,” Louis laughs as he stands looking out of the glass doors to the back, seeing Freddie and Rhino running around in circles as Zayn watches on, ready to pick up Freddie when he ultimately falls flat on his face on the big lawn. Harry smiles as he stands by the kitchen counter, chopping up some veggies for Freddie to have as a snack. All things considered, Louis has really grown into being a very responsible father, giving his kid healthy snacks and putting him to bed on time. Harry realises that Louis isn't the crazy teenager anymore that he was ten years ago. But still, it hits him sometimes. “Makes putting him down for his nap so much easier,” Louis sighs, leaving the windows and going to get some juice from the fridge. Harry chuckles to himself.

Louis puts the carton of juice on the kitchen island and leans one hip against the counter, facing Harry. Harry keeps chopping the carrots before resisting an eye-roll.

“What?” he turns to face Louis, who's already got his eyebrows raised in question. Harry shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “What?” he repeats.

“Are you guys dating?” Louis asks bluntly.

“What?” Harry says a third time, because he doesn't know what else to say, a feeling of nervousness settling in his stomach.

“You and Zayn,” Louis says, simple as ever. “Are you together? Like properly together?”

Never before during these ten years that they've known each other, that they've all been in each other's lives, have Harry and Louis ever uttered Zayn's name like this in a similar conversation. Never has Harry actually blatantly told Louis about his feelings for the man outside playing in the grass. For the boy in the bunk across from theirs. Harry can't say he is very surprised that Louis knows, that he has known, it's not news and Harry realises now, looking back on it, that he was never as discreet or good at hiding his feelings as he probably thought he was back then. But hearing it being put so simply like this, Louis asking so casually, it feels familiar, and scary all at the same time. He whips his head around towards the glass doors, as if to make sure that Zayn isn't listening in on their conversation, before turning back to Louis. Every single emotion must be crystal clear on his face because Louis raises one eyebrow expectantly. Harry shakes his head, clearing his throat and looks back down at the chopping board, grabbing another carrot.

“No,” he frowns down at what he's doing, trying not to look as bothered as he is.

“Why?” Louis asks, not missing a beat. Harry's response gets caught in his throat. What kind of question is that?

He shrugs his shoulder in confusion. “What do you mean 'why'?” He frowns grumpily, cutting a cucumber into a slice a bit more violently than necessary.

“Why aren't the two of you together?” Louis asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if the fact that they're not truly boggles his mind. Harry clenches his jaw. He looks up at Louis, ready to derail the question, but what he can see in Louis' eyes makes him not able to. He resists a heavy sigh, glancing out the window one more time before turning back to the vegetables. He starts cutting the peppers, Louis still waiting for an answer.

“Because he doesn't wanna be with me,” Harry says, once the silence has stretched out for long enough.

“How do you know that?”

Harry can start to feel his patience wearing thin. “Because he told me,” he says, dragging the knife against the cutting board roughly as he slices the peppers, not caring about how he must be damaging Louis' kitchenware.

“When did he say that?” Harry can hear the frown in Louis' voice and he gives up trying to act cool about the topic. He sighs roughly, dropping both hands down on the kitchen counter, knife clutched in one fist.

“The fuck does it matter?” he gets out, trying his utmost to keep a calm voice.

Louis is still frowning when Harry looks at him. “It does matter. Was it yesterday? A year ago? Five years ago, what?”

Harry pointedly doesn't react to Louis so nearly hitting the nail on the head.

“It doesn't matter,” Harry shakes his head, both at Louis and to himself.

“What's all this then?” Louis looks properly confused, nodding towards Harry and then towards the glass doors.

“I'm making lunch for your son,” Harry says humourlessly. Louis narrows his eyes and Harry keeps a blank stare before running a hand through his hair, sighing. “We're writing a song together,” Louis' eyebrows travel so high up on his forehead that Harry has a fleeting thought of seeing them disappear completely into his hairline. “It's for Comic Relief.” he explains instead and Louis' mouth falls open a bit in understanding. “It's like, for their anniversary, I don't know. They asked for us specifically.”

Louis makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Interesting.”

Harry shrugs a shoulder.

“Been doing a lot of writing then?” Louis asks, a knowing tone to his voice, for what reason Harry doesn't know. Louis doesn't know shit. But he still doesn't manage to resist biting the inside of his lip and Louis nods at clearly being right. “So you're hanging out, not working, getting along, enjoying each other's company. Then what?”

Harry just stares at him, not knowing what to say. Then what?

“He loves you, you know,” Louis says, again with that tone of his voice, like it's obvious, and Harry turns back to his vegetables, cutting another piece of cucumber into strips, ignoring the prickling feeling in his throat. Ignoring that tiny sense of hope that he's worked so hard to crush. “Right,” he scoffs quietly.

“He does,” Louis says softly. Harry shakes his head wordlessly, forcing down the lump in his throat threatening to break free.

“The fuck would you know about that,” he grunts rudely once he gets his voice back, but Louis doesn't even flinch.

“Please,” he scoffs back, and Harry glances at him. “Seriously,” Louis shakes his head fondly at Harry, his eyes almost looking sad all of a sudden, before a smile appears on his face. “Trust me.”

Harry searches his gaze, a hint of desperation rising to the surface before the both of them are snapped out of their staring match at the sound of Freddie shouting wildly for his daddy, running inside with Rhino on his heels.

“I'm hungry,” Freddie whines cutely and Harry smiles down at him, Louis ushering him away to the table as Harry gets the veggies into bowls, carrying them over to the table along with some hummus and bread.

“You did this all by yourself?” Zayn says, a slight flush on his cheeks as he comes in, looking at the little spread on the table. Harry admires his happy face and the way he is still panting just a little bit from all of the exercise that he has surely been getting from the last hour, before Zayn looks up at him with big eyes, and Harry frowns wildly.

“I think you might be confusing me for someone else,” he says, making Zayn laugh, going over to help him get some glasses out, Harry watching him go before glancing at Louis helping Freddie into a chair. Their eyes lock for a moment, Louis' eyebrows raising yet again, and Harry swallows, taking a large breath filled with nerves, feeling that all too familiar fluttering of wings in his chest, before going over to Zayn as he calls for him to lend him a hand.

 

It gets late before any of them can notice, the sun shining outside in a different light, more orange and soothing and Zayn and Harry finally realise that it's time to leave, as Freddie starts to doze off in his father's lap, Rhino resting his head on his own daddy's thigh on the sofa.

Louis gives Harry the evil eye as they're all saying their good-byes, forcing him to promise that he won't go months before seeing them again, and telling him to 'pick up his sodding phone', one eye on Freddie who is cuddling Rhino, making sure that his little ears don't hear daddy cursing.

The ride back to Zayn's house is quiet, the both of them so relaxed and content after their day, Zayn leaning back in his seat with a small smile on his face, Harry putting the radio on low as he drives through the streets. He can see Rhino laying with his eyes closed in the backseat, still beat from the exciting day, and he smiles to himself, feeling very happy all things considered.

“Same time tomorrow?” Zayn asks as usual as Harry stops the car in his driveway. Harry watches Rhino lift his head where it's been resting on his paws before he sees that Zayn is staying seated and lays back down again. Harry nods, turning to Zayn, and is just about to open his mouth to respond properly before Zayn interrupts him.

“Actually,” he says and Harry waits expectantly. “I was thinking today, because we haven't got a lot of shit done going on as we have, maybe we could go down to the studio tomorrow? I don't know, maybe getting a change of environment will get the creative juices flowing so to speak,” he says in a croaky voice, tired from all the shouting he'd done with Rhino and Freddie, a crooked smile on his lips. Harry swallows.

“Uhm,” he starts, looking at Zayn's questioning face. “Yeah, why not. Sure,” he says, nodding again. He's not too excited about the prospect, of getting in a proper studio, with instruments, and being forced to face the music. So to speak. But Zayn does look excited, and Harry can't say no.

Zayn nods back happily. “Great. Meet you there? I'll text you the address,” Zayn is just about to get out of the car before he turns back. “You've got the same number, yeah?” Harry nods, trying not to think of how weird it is to ask someone you've known for a decade if you definitely have their number. He smiles a tight-lipped smile.

“Good,” Zayn gives him a pat on the thigh before getting out, going to let Rhino out from the backseat, leaving Harry with butterflies in his stomach. He rolls his eyes at himself before snapping out of it quickly to plaster a smile on his face as Zayn waves at him from outside the window, before getting inside his house.

Harry huffs out a breath and gets the car running, despite feeling like he needs to sit in the silence for a while to think. Zayn's driveway isn't the best place, especially with all the windows that face it, allowing Zayn to be able to look out and see Harry sitting in his car like a weirdo, if he so chooses. So he doesn't, leaving straight away to avoid any suspicions.

As much as he tries to bat away and forget about Louis' words from hours before, his mind won't let him, and the same thing flies around and around inside his head, as he drives home with the radio turned off.

 _He loves you_. _He does_.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What the fuck does Louis know? Harry barely dares to think about it. But however much he tries, he can't shake the thought away. Louis' words etched themselves inside his brain the moment they reached his ears. This isn't what was supposed to happen, this was never what was supposed to happen. This is the reason Harry didn't even want to do any of this in the first place. It's a shit, all of it, he knows it. It's all a shit. But the thought is there now. Fuck.

Harry sighs roughly, running a hand through his hair, tangled from when Freddie had his hands in it before. He smiles distractedly at the memory, leaving his fingers buried in his curls as he leans his elbow on the windowsill. It doesn't last long, and his face drops again.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

Hope. That one thing he hasn't allowed himself to feel. It frightens him. But it's there, a growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, the fluttering of wings getting louder with ever second. As he stops at a red light, Harry bites the inside of his cheek, before clenching his jaw. Fuck it all, he thinks, shaking his head and continuing on his way as the light turns green.

He stops at the supermarket on his way home, Louis' voice still ringing in his ears.

-

Zayn taps his pen against the open notepad, one hand supporting his chin where he stands leaning against the grand piano. It's a nice room they've borrowed for the day, in the studio where Zayn does a lot of his recording, lots of equipment dotted all over that had Harry feeling those same uncomfortable nerves floating to the surface that he knew he would be, once he entered and took a look around. He hates himself for feeling this way, but it's how it's been for so long. He doesn't know how to not.

He sits by the piano, running his hands over the keys and letting himself tap out a few notes, as Zayn runs his hand over the scruff on his jaw, still staring down at the notepad. Harry hasn't played the piano in ages, but somehow it felt natural to sit down on the stool, the black and white keys almost luring him in. He sighs heavily and rubs his hands over his thighs, before looking up at Zayn. He's started to hum a melody to himself, running the tip of the pen over the page in front of him that Harry can't see from where he's sitting. Harry stills, listening to the softness of Zayn's voice. He doesn't seem to notice that he's doing it, caught up in his own thoughts, and Harry smiles.

“That's nice,” Harry says gently, breaking the silence that has been laying over the room for the past minutes. Zayn looks up at him with raised eyebrows, confirming Harry's suspicions.

Zayn pulls himself out of his daydreams and Harry can almost see a blush forming on his cheeks. “Uh, thanks,” Zayn chuckles nervously, looking back down at where he's still doodling in the book. He looks like he's deciding whether to say anything else before he continues. “It's for the new album.” he says self-consciously, shrugging a shoulder like he's trying to act casual and Harry smiles. Harry nods to himself.

“I'd expect you to be on your sixth one already, with the way you were popping them out four years ago,” Harry says, still with a smile on his face and Zayn chuckles again.

“Yeah. I just... I just needed some time on this one. Thought I'd take it slowly, give myself time to breathe. I thought so too, actually, but, yeah, I've been busy with other stuff, I guess. I'm working on it though.” Zayn smiles. It looks slightly guarded, and Harry searches his face. “My thoughts are a bit jumbled for some reason. But it's starting to come along.” He looks back up at Harry and Harry nods.

“What's it about?” Harry asks. Zayn's eyebrows raise a bit, the sudden walls he's put up dropping in favour of his questioning face. “The song.” Harry clarifies.

“Oh,” Zayn swallows. “Uhm...” He looks back down. “I'm not quite sure yet.” The pen stops moving across the paper. “It's still a bit... I dunno. I don't know.” Zayn finishes, laughing awkwardly to himself again. Harry just nods.

“Well, it's beautiful. I can't wait to hear it.”

Zayn visibly forces down a smile as he keeps his gaze on the notepad, and Harry can see a definite blush forming on his face. He can't look away.

Zayn sighs suddenly, and puts down the pen, pushing the notepad away over the shiny black surface and lays his arms on the piano, leaning down and resting his chin against them, looking at Harry with a small smile. “Play something.” he says softly.

Harry stills, resisting to put the lid down over the keys immediately. “Like what?” he asks instead. Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “Anything.”

Harry looks down at the piano keys, swallowing. He's just about to lay his fingers against them when he feels a buzzing in his back pocket, the muted sound of his ringtone breaking the silence and the vibe in the room.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling the phone out and looking at the screen. He answers, getting up from his seat and walking towards the other side of the room. “Yeah?” He looks back over his shoulder to see Zayn sitting down at the piano as he answers the phone.

“You alright?” Jeff asks and Harry turns away again.

“Uh, yeah,” he says distractedly before shaking himself awake. “Yeah, we're, uh... we're in the studio today, trying to work on the song, see if we can get some inspiration.”

“Yeah? Any luck?”

“Uhm,” Harry starts. “Not really.” He can't lie to Jeff. Well, he could, and he has. But not about this. There's no point, and he honestly doesn't even care. “Yeah, we haven't really gotten anywhere. Yet.” Harry manages, half-heartedly trying to not make Jeff have to worry too much. It's the least he can do.

“Alright, well that's cool,” Jeff says, sounding like he genuinely means it and Harry nods along to his words. “There's no rush so, you guys just take your time, yeah? You know, hanging out like you're doing will get you somewhere soon enough,” Harry frowns a bit at that, not being able to tune out the way his mind takes the words in a different way. Soon enough.

“Just thought I'd check in to see that everything's alright. You're getting along then?”

Harry nods again. “Yeah, it's good. We're good.” He sneaks another look at Zayn who is playing a random tune on the piano. “What?” Harry says, whipping his head around to focus on Jeff's voice through the phone.

“Everything has gone smoothly?” Jeff repeats. “No... arguments or anything like that?”

Harry clears his throat, shaking his head.

“No, nothing like that.” He pauses. “It's been really good, actually.”

“Good,” Jeff says gently, a smile evident in his voice and Harry nods, holding the phone tight against his ear. “Alright, well, again, just checking in,” Jeff goes on, his voice back to a normal tone, and Harry bites his lip distractedly. “Just let me know if you need anything or, whatever. Alright?”

“Right,” Harry lets his thoughts drift for a second before one thing pops into his head. “How long have we got exactly?” he asks, not remembering ever hearing an actual date from anyone yet, Zayn not seeming to have a proper idea about it either.

“Uh,” Jeff sighs in a thinking tone. “You have time,” he settles on and Harry frowns. “Don't worry about that, just take it slow, take your time, you know,” Jeff says, that voice of professionalism coming through. “There's no rush, you guys just focus on trying to move forward, in your own time.”

It sounds unclear still, unusually so when it's coming from Jeff, but Harry lets the frown fall from his face, just nodding along. “Kay then, we'll do our best,” he says, looking back at Zayn, who is standing up and leaning over the keys to write in his notepad. “That all?” Harry asks bluntly.

“Yes, that is all,” Jeff says so very calmly and Harry can hear him rolling his eyes through the phone, making him grin. “I'll let you get back to, uh,” Jeff drifts off for just a second. “To work.” he says, finding his footing and Harry raises his eyebrows just a little bit, not getting the chance to say anything else before Jeff is saying goodbye down the line.

He puts his phone back into his pocket once he's done, walking slowly back towards the piano, Zayn still scribbling calmly in his book. He must spot Harry out of the corner of his eye because he immediately closes the notepad and pushes it away from him before sitting down, smiling up at Harry as he takes a seat next to him.

“Jeff?” Zayn asks in that gentle voice that always makes Harry want to pull him into his arms. It makes him feel safe, it always has, and Harry forces himself to stay focused, Zayn so close now, and looking at him expectantly. He nods and hums.

“Just checking in,” he says simply, raising a hand and pushing three fingers down in an A minor on the keys. Zayn chuckles. “Cheerful.” Harry smiles and shrugs, dropping both hands on his knees.

“Nothing?” he asks, making Zayn shake his head. “Not for this at least.” Harry nods, sucking on his lip and looking back down at the keys. None of them say anything else and Harry feels the moment start to creep up on him. It's time. Just do it.

“Do you-” he gets out, just as Zayn starts to say something himself, and they both look at each other for a moment in surprise before Zayn laughs shortly. “Sorry,” Harry says immediately but Zayn just shakes his head. “No, you go.”

Any other time Harry would probably insist on Zayn saying his thing first, but he needs to get this out. He needs to do it now, and he is not about to chicken out.

“I was just, uhm... If you don't need to go back home to the fellas,” Zayn smiles at Harry's wording and Harry copies him, gaining some new courage. “You could come back to mine, and... we could have some dinner, if you want. It's getting around that time anyway, so. If you want, unless you have something else planned,” he's not quite babbling yet, but continuing on for another couple of sentences he very well could be, so Harry forces himself to trail off, trying not to look too intensely at Zayn as he waits for a response. Zayn's eyebrows are raised in mild surprise and Harry reminds himself to keep breathing normally.

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn says, a small smile on his face, his eyes bright as they look at Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry repeats, trying to hold back the grin that is threatening to form on his lips.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I was just about to say actually; I asked Louis to go over and check up on them today so, they should be good for a while longer, so,” Zayn shrugs still smiling, and Harry nods.

“Cool. Alright, well, you wanna go now? I'm actually kinda starving already?” Harry does what he thinks is a cute little frown, and it must be because Zayn chuckles and nods, grabbing his stuff and standing up, Harry putting the lid down on the keys before leading the way out of the practice room.

-

Trisha calls just as Harry has poured the two of them each a glass of red wine, and Zayn's voice sounds through the room like the most beautiful background noise as Harry stands by the stove, keeping an eye on the minced beef frying in the pan while chopping some red peppers in half. He'd been way too scatterbrained as he'd been shopping yesterday evening, but luckily he managed to pull himself together enough to buy some groceries for a decent meal. Casual enough for Zayn not to think that something was up but also with enough thought put into it that it won't seem like just any other meal of the week. It barely makes sense in Harry's head so it probably won't to Zayn either, Harry thinks as he shakes his head discreetly. It's just dinner. That's what it is. Regardless of what it might lead to. Dinner. The two of them. Lovely.

And wine, Harry thinks, sneaking a glance towards Zayn, seeing him taking a sip of his drink where he stands by the glass doors, talking to his mother calmly. Harry reaches over to the side to sip at his own. Lovely.

“Kay, yeah. Alright, I will. Kay, love you, mum. Bye,” Zayn wraps it up on the phone and Harry turns back to the beef, hearing him sigh as Zayn walks up behind him.

“You need any help?” Zayn asks, and Harry shakes his head quickly. “No, thanks, you just sit down, relax. I'll whip this up in no time.” Zayn chuckles and Harry smiles at him over his shoulder, watching Zayn take a seat at the kitchen island.

“The fam is good?” Harry asks, seasoning the beef properly and stirring the meat together, breathing in the smell of the spices as it rises up towards his nose.

“Yeah, they're good, mum just checking in as usual. She said hello, by the way.”

A smile immediately creeps onto Harry's lips. “Oh, thanks, tell her the same from me when you speak to her next time,” he says, his chest feeling warm at the thought of Trisha thinking of him.

“Alright, I will,” Zayn says again and Harry chuckles softly, before carefully filling the peppers with beef and sticking them into the oven.

“Smells lovely,” Zayn says as Harry turns towards him, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “You always were a bit of a culinary goddess, weren't you.” There's a teasing glint in Zayn's eyes, and Harry laughs. “We'll see what you think when you've had a taste, yeah?”

“I'm sure it'll be great,” Zayn takes another sip of his glass. “This is really good as well,” he nods appreciatively towards his drink and Harry smiles, reaching back for his own and having another taste. “I haven't had wine in ages, hopefully it won't backfire on me,” Zayn laughs, Harry trying to hide the way he's admiring the way Zayn's lips stretch into a crooked smile. Zayn looks back up at him and Harry casually turns around to check on the peppers, before joining him at the kitchen island.

“Well, I've got a whole 'nother bottle so, keep drinking,” he smiles and Zayn raises his eyebrows, Harry mimicking him.

“Well,” Zayn starts, that falsely serious tone to his voice that Harry loves so much. “We have had a very long and straining day, haven't we?” he takes another sip, and Harry grins. Zayn huffs out a laugh, still with his mouth full, shaking his head at Harry and putting his glass down. He keeps his gaze on the glass, Harry watching him carefully. They're sitting right in front of each other, and that all too familiar sense of deja vu floods Harry's mind and body. He shakes it away.

“So what did Jeff want then?” Zayn asks, looking back up at Harry and Harry needs a second to get his brain to function again after having been watching Zayn's eyelashes blink against his cheeks.

“He just,” he starts, shrugging. “Just was wondering how everything was coming along. Just checking in.” Harry says and Zayn nods.

“Did you tell him about how we're failing miserably at this?” Zayn asks, not sounding or looking too bothered with the situation and Harry smiles, shaking his head.

“No, told him everything was going good,” he says, keeping his eyes on Zayn's. Zayn raises his eyebrows briefly.

“Right. Is it?” his tone is light and Harry nods, trying to look casual and not grin like he wants to.

“I think so. You know, we're here, we're... getting along,” Zayn raises an eyebrow at that and Harry trails off.

“Did you not think we would?” Zayn asks gently.

“Uhm,” Harry starts. “Yeah, of course.” he says, pointedly ignoring the sceptical narrowing of Zayn's eyes, forcing down another grin. “But, you know, it's us, innit.” It's out before he can even think about what he's saying. But it's the truth. Unfortunately. Harry looks back at Zayn whose brows are still a bit higher up on his forehead than usual. He looks like he's thinking as he focuses on where his fingers are touching the foot of his wine glass. Harry waits.

“Right,” Zayn says, nodding slowly, tone light, but softer now, and more like he's talking to himself than to Harry. “Well,” he sighs all of a sudden, tone back to normal. “You've managed to keep your calm for once, so that's good,” he says, rubbing his finger over an eye, and Harry's mouth drops just a bit, watching Zayn biting down on a grin of his own as he tries to look nonchalant and unaware of Harry's new affronted expression.

“I'm always calm,” Harry says, a frown on his face, and Zayn hums in response, a fake sound of agreement and Harry keeps his mouth open, a smile threatening to break through now. “I am! I'm the- you know what,” he says, pushing himself away from where he's been leaning over the kitchen island, just about to say something else when the ding from the peppers being ready sounds behind him. “Saved by the bell, eh?” he says with narrowed eyes as Zayn snickers, Harry shaking his head with a smile on his face as he goes to get their dinner out from the oven.

 

They clean their plates in a rush, the two of them being more starved than they'd expected when they finally got their food in front of them. Zayn had been positively moaning into his stuffed peppers and Harry had found himself three glasses of wine deep in no time, trying his best to tune out the noises Zayn was making as he complimented Harry on his wonderful cooking.

“God, I'm stuffed,” Harry sighs as he leans back in his seat, before quickly lifting a hand to snap his fingers and point at Zayn with a cheesy smile on his face, making Zayn snort at the pun and roll his eyes. He rubs his own stomach and yawns widely as Harry pours them both another glass of the delicious red wine, the two of them half-way done with the second bottle already. Zayn shakes his head as Harry pours and pushes the glass back over the table.

“I'm gonna hate you in the morning, but,” he sighs, lifting the glass to his mouth. “Who cares,” he mutters and Harry sniggers, sipping from his own glass.

“Fuck, I'm sweltering,” Zayn says, fanning his hands at his face before getting up from the table. “I need to go out for a second,” he makes to clear the table for them but Harry shakes his head, waving him away and getting to his feet. “Leave it, I'll get it later.” he says, gesturing for Zayn to get his glass and going over to pull the back doors open. He can already feel the alcohol rushing to his head now that he's standing upright and Zayn must feel the same with the way he mutters a curse behind Harry's back, making Harry giggle as he looks over his shoulder to watch Zayn follow him out onto the steps down towards the lawn.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Zayn sighs contentedly and Harry smiles to himself, looking up at the sky that has already gotten darker over the trees surrounding the two houses. The pink ball is still laying on the grass from where Rhino left it the day before, and Harry goes to fetch it, his feet getting just the slightest bit damp from the hint of dew on the ground. He tries to juggle it for a bit, wine glass in one hand, and failing quite badly, hearing Zayn laugh from behind him. He smiles and looks back, seeing him walking over to the trampoline, pulling the net to the side and getting in. Harry follows enthustiastically, about to get in when Zayn's voice stops him.

“No drinking and jumping,” he says, eyes wide as he tries to look authorative, nodding to the side of the trampoline, making Harry look down to see Zayn's half-drunk glass of wine standing on the grass by the steps. Harry frowns, before throwing caution to the wind and proceeding to down the remaining contents of his glass, hearing Zayn snort in surprise. Harry sighs after having swallowed and drops the glass down onto the grass, making sure that it stays in one piece before getting on the trampoline with Zayn, who's already sitting peacefully with his legs stretched out, arms holding himself up behind his back.

“You're crazy- Harry, no!” Zayn yelps as Harry starts to jump, getting close to Zayn and making him bounce where he's sitting, Harry already panting slightly with a grin on his face. “Stop it!” Zayn demands, but there's a laugh in his voice and Harry giggles before wobbling on a jump and making him have to reach down to put a hand on the trampoline, Zayn laughing fully now, a hand gripping around Harry's outstretched arm as Harry lets his legs cave from under him, plopping down beside Zayn and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Maybe not the best thing to do after half a bottle of wine,” Zayn giggles at him and Harry frowns, shaking his head in disagreement. “It's great exercise, actually,” Harry breathes, coughing into one hand before sighing deeply and laying down, knees bent and hands on his stomach as he lets his heart slow down to a normal speed. Zayn is still snickering quietly and Harry smiles, raising a hand to grab at his shoulder and pulling him down next to him, Zayn giving a long-suffering sigh as he gets himself comfortable, the trampoline moving them both up and down slightly with their movements.

They lay in silence for a while, Harry keeping his eyes closed, focusing on breathing, and on the way he can feel Zayn's body heat, without them even touching.

“Why didn't you call me?”

Zayn's voice is soft, but in the silence of the air around them, and all over the garden, it's loud and clear in Harry's ear. He opens his eyes, looking up at the sky. A few stars are visible now, and Harry forces himself not to get distracted and try and count them.

“Which time?” he asks.

“You know which time,” Zayn says. He's facing away still as well, Harry knows, because if Zayn was looking at him, he would feel it. He always does.

Harry's head has started to get a bit fuzzy and he takes a few seconds to clear his mind, thinking about his answer.

“I said to call me, if you wanted to,” Zayn continues before Harry can say anything. “Maybe I'm shooting myself in the foot here,” Zayn mutters, huffing out a short laugh before falling silent, and Harry immediately needs to shake his head.

“It's not that I didn't want to,” he says, and Zayn turns to look at him now. “But you seemed fine,” Harry says, very inarticulately, and he can almost feel the frown he knows Zayn is sending his way.

“So?” Zayn says, confusion evident in his voice. “What, you only wanna call me when I'm not? What does that even mean?” Harry is shaking his head again, a bit more frustrated now. That's not it.

“No, I just,” he starts, before sighing heavily. He shrugs. “You just didn't seem like... you needed me.” Zayn stays silent, and Harry keeps his eyes on the sky above them. “It's not that I thought that you didn't mean what you said. I don't know. I just didn't.” Harry finishes, mumbling his last words. He feels silly, like a child getting berated for doing something wrong. He's not a child. Not anymore. But he's not done a lot of things right in a while either.

“That's silly,” Zayn's voice is firm, and Harry looks down at his hands on his stomach. “I've always needed you.”

Harry turns to face him, instantly. Zayn's voice has gone softer, to match the look in his eyes as he meets Harry's.

“You know that.” he says.

Harry shakes his head, because he doesn't know what else to do. It's not true. But Zayn just smiles at him, looking at him in that way, like he's the little child that he feels like he is.

“I don't.” Harry says, resisting a frown. He doesn't know what's happening, what's changed. But he's not a child anymore. Zayn swallows visibly, and Harry is just about to open his mouth to speak when Zayn beats him to it.

“It really is nice to see you with hair again,” he says, that teasing glint in his eyes back in full force. Harry frowns wildly, subconsciously allowing himself to get distracted, and Zayn breaks out into a proper grin.

“I was never _bald_ ,” Harry says and Zayn frowns back and gets into a sitting position. “According to yourself,” he says, nodding to Harry as he sits cross-legged on the trampoline, still with a small, teasing smile on his face. Harry keeps frowning, sitting up as well and feeling his head go woozy again.

“That's rich coming from you,” he scoffs, the statement not deterring Zayn in the least, who just shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, but I rocked it, didn't I?” he says, it sounding more like a fact than a question. And it is, Harry can't even argue with that.

“Yeah, you did,” he mutters and Zayn giggles quietly, Harry smiling at the sound.

“I like you with hair though, too,” Harry says dumbly and Zayn snorts quietly. “Thank you,” he laughs, and Harry grins.

“That's my favourite version of you. With hair. And happy.” he says, and Zayn's face falls slightly, looking at Harry with a small questioning smile. Harry shrugs, letting himself go on. The alcohol is really starting to kick in now and he can't be bothered about a filter anymore.

“That's just my memory of you. From back then. When you were still happy. I don't like to think about you with no hair, because...” Harry shakes his head slightly, trying to find the right words. “Because I just picture you, in my head, just at home. On your own, alone. I picture you being lonely, after you left. And I don't like that.”

Zayn looks solemn all of a sudden, watching Harry intently as he speaks, a calm look on his face. They're silent for a while, Zayn turning up the corners of his lips slightly, trying for a small smile, as Harry watches his every move. Like he usually does.

“Sometimes it's good to be alone.” Zayn says gently. Harry shakes his head, and Zayn looks at him.

“It's not good to be lonely,” Harry puts a slight emphasis on the last words. “You shouldn't be. I don't like that.”

Zayn smiles now, looking down at his fingers, playing with his rings where his hands lay in his lap. Zayn shakes his head a bit. “Well, I just gotta find someone to be with, don't I. Someone to keep me company.” Zayn smiles lightly, looking up at Harry. Harry wants to speak. But Zayn is too close. He can't speak at all.

“I was a bit lonely,” Zayn says quietly, their gazes firm on each other. Harry nods. “But I'm not now. Not really.” he shrugs lazily. “We're all good now, aren't we. Me and the boys. I can't complain.” Harry doesn't push the fact that they both know that that's not really what any of this is about. He just hums in agreement, moving to copy Zayn's position from where he's been leaning on an arm uncomfortably, sitting in front of him cross-legged instead. He nods again as he's getting himself comfortable, wanting Zayn to continue.

Zayn shrugs. “I wasn't too fussed about any of them back then, to be honest. The three of them.” he says, looking at Harry.

Harry can feel himself staring.

“Were you fussed about me?”

No filter.

He has time to see the smile on Zayn's face before he turns his head down to his hands again. He shrugs. “I was always fussed about you back then.”

Harry's stare gets even more intense, if possible.

“Back then? What about now?” he asks bluntly. Zayn scrunches up his nose cutely and Harry raises his eyebrows. Zayn makes a thinking sound before shrugging a shoulder. “You're alright.” Harry frowns, feeling his face sink into a pout and Zayn giggles before moving over to the steps leading up to the trampoline, leaning over the edge to get his wine. Harry doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's checking him out, as he watches the thin fabric of Zayn's t-shirt stretch over his back and shoulders. Zayn makes a little grunt as he comes back up again, taking a sip and scooting back over to Harry who has his hand outstretched already. Zayn frowns.

“Just because you chugged yours like a madman,” he says, holding the glass to his chest, making Harry roll his eyes, keeping his hand out and giving Zayn what he hopes is a demanding and convincing look. Zayn sighs and hands the glass over, letting Harry take a large gulp before slapping his shoulder and getting it back as soon as the glass is not touching Harry's mouth.

“Idiot,” he grumbles, visibly trying to keep a smile off his face.

Harry chuckles, leaning back with his hands flat on the trampoline to support him, and watching Zayn take another sip, running a hand through his hair as he does so.

“Did your mum like David?”

He's been thinking about it since Trisha called earlier, the thought at the back of his mind, nagging him incessantly. He's finally in the right state to dare ask. He doesn't know why he needs to hear about this. He just does. Besides, Zayn and David aren't together anymore. They broke up. Harry breathes in a soothing lungful of fresh air.

Zayn looks mildly surprised, but finds his footing quick enough.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, they all did. Why?”

Harry shrugs. He was always a bit shit at acting aloof when drunk. It doesn't stop him from trying.

“I didn't get a very good chance to suss him out when I met him that one time. But if Trisha likes him, then he must be a sound guy.”

Zayn smiles. He doesn't look uncomfortable, talking about his ex. Harry isn't sure how he feels about that.

“Yeah, he is,” Zayn says, before sighing heavily, the sigh turning into a yawn that he hides behind his hand. “I haven't dated any bastards. Not in a long while at least.” Zayn huffs out a small laugh.

“Well, you have good enough taste.” Harry says bluntly, and honestly.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Good enough?” he says, sounding jokingly offended.

Harry frowns like it's obvious, shrugging a shoulder, before going in for the kill. “Yeah,” he says. “You slept with me, didn't you?”

Zayn's eyes go wide before he chokes out a laugh of surprise, looking Harry dead in the eyes as Harry stares right back, a small grin falling on his lips at Zayn's reaction. It's gotten dark outside, but Harry still thinks that what he's seeing is a pink flush creep onto Zayn's cheeks. He feels his heart beat a bit harder, keeping his breathing calm and watching Zayn get over the slight shock.

“That I did,” he chuckles, managing to resist lifting a hand to stroke over his brow, a nervous tic that Harry jotted down in his mind years ago.

It's been years, years and years since they last did anything remotely sexual together, but it's not like any of them could ever forget. And Harry knows that he's not imagining things when he speaks for Zayn as well. He doesn't think he'd ever be able to forget, without sounding too arrogant. It wasn't even just about the sex itself. Not for Harry at least. Ever. But he hadn't been too sure of if Zayn had been conciously avoiding the subject. It's been years. It's no big deal. Even though there hasn't been anything since then, with anyone, that has ever been able to measure up. Not physically, or emotionally. Not for Harry. Not ever.

Harry, who has never been in a relationship that's lasted longer than three months.

Looking at Zayn now, it's obvious that he had been hoping it wouldn't come up.

Zayn, who has lived with people, been engaged to people. Zayn who's been in love. And had that same person love him back. Harry tries very hard not to clench his jaw roughly enough to get a strain.

Zayn is taking another sip, most likely to avoid the slightly strained silence that has fallen over the both of them. Harry pushes through.

“Did David know?” he asks. “About us.”

His gaze is firm enough on Zayn that it leaves him no room to act like he doesn't know what Harry means. How could he ever.

Zayn starts to slowly shake his head.

“No.”

“No?”

Zayn makes a sound in his throat, supporting his words.

“Why not?” Harry asks. The thought of him meeting David comes back to him, the memory of the three of them standing on that balcony two years ago. To David, Harry had just been an old friend of Zayn's. Just someone he used to be in a band with once, and whom he had lost contact with over the years. The thought makes Harry want to bite his tongue off.

Zayn furrows his brows in slight confusion. “I didn't think you'd want anyone to know.” He shrugs. So very casually, and a feeling of nausea travels through Harry's body.

“I wouldn't have minded.” is all he can say.

“It might have been a bit weird, to tell him,” Zayn chuckles awkwardly. “It's not like I've ever told anyone else either.”

Harry swallows, before mustering up a shrug of his shoulder. “I'm just saying. I wouldn't have minded.”

Zayn nods his head once in acknowledgment. He clears his throat.

“What about you then? Any old exes that ever got an earful?” he laughs again, and Harry can hear how uncomfortable he is, how he's trying to act more casual than he actually is. He frowns at the thought, of ever telling anyone he's ever slept with about him and Zayn. As if it's any of their business.

“No,” he says, keeping the frown of distaste on his face and Zayn bites his lip, nodding. “I told Nick though. Ages ago. Or, I didn't really, he just kinda figured it out for himself,” Zayn's eyebrows have risen far up on his forehead.

“Really?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. And... I'm pretty sure mum knows too. We've never really spoken about it, but. Yeah. Just have that feeling.”

It's almost like he's talking to himself at this point, trying to sort through his thoughts and voicing things that he's never before. He almost forgets that Zayn is sitting in front of him right now, listening to all that he has to say, before he looks up at him and sees him sitting with his glass half-raised to his face, a confused and very hesitant furrow to his brows.

“What... knows about us having sex?”

He looks so confused, probably not meaning to look as cute as he does and Harry loses focus for a moment.

“Well, that, and... I guess, about my feelings, and stuff.”

Zayn is staring at him, a slight crease between his eyebrows, and a look in his eyes that Harry can't quite distinguish, in his drunken state, and in the dim lights from around the pool that casts over the both of them. If he had to take a guess, he'd say he looked spooked almost.

“What feelings?” Zayn's voice is clear as day, but hesitant, like he's not sure if he wants to hear what Harry has to say.

“You know,” Harry starts. Suddenly, it doesn't feel very easy to push through anymore. With the way Zayn is looking at him, and the way Harry can feel the tension in the enclosed space getting heavier with every second. “What I said to you, in your kitchen.”

It's been years. Ages. But Harry knows. He knows that Zayn knows exactly what he's talking about. The look on his face says as much, along with his next words.

“You didn't say anything to me. You tried to kiss me. But you didn't say anything.”

Harry feels himself start to frown.

“I did. I said a lot of things. Maybe you just didn't listen,” Harry says. Maybe Zayn doesn't remember. Maybe he blocked it out. Harry is just about to start explaining himself when Zayn interrupts him. His eyes look blank. Emotionless.

“No, I listened. You made yourself very clear.” Zayn sighs. “I thought we moved past that?” he says, a pleading look starting to form on his face. “Or do you want to apologise, again?” he looks tired. All of a sudden, he looks so tired. Harry shakes his head. “Maybe _you_ should,” he says, before he can think about it. Zayn scowls at him.

“Whatever,” he mutters, and starts to move away to the steps leading down to the grass. Harry's frown deepens. “Where are you going?”

Zayn sighs as he gets down to the grass. “It's late. I'm going home. Thanks for dinner.”

He's barely looking Harry in the eye, and disappears further into the dark quicker than Harry can make his eyes focus. Fuck that.

Harry tries to get out from the trampoline as fast as he can, wobbling as he lands on the grass, having missed a step on the way down, but he catches himself quickly and hurries to the stone steps leading up towards the house, Zayn just moving out of sight through the glass doors as Harry casts a look up.

“Zayn?” he calls after him, jogging up the steps. Zayn is putting his glass in the sink as he gets in and is just about to head to the hallway, not bothering to answer Harry or look at him where he stands in the doorway.  
  
“Zayn!” Harry says, voice firm and loud, and Zayn turns to face him.

“I'll see you in the morning, I'll text you,” he says, about to turn around again before Harry can think about finally moving inside.

“No- where are you going?”

Zayn sighs.

“Home.”

Deja vu. Harry pushes it aside.

“How? You haven't got a car to drive, and even if you did, you don't have a license and even if you had, you've been drinking, so you can't.” he babbles, and Zayn lets him. Harry lets out a breath. They stare at each other.

“I'll call for someone, don't worry about it,” Zayn shrugs, jaw set and moving away again.  
  
Harry frowns. “No! Wait,” Zayn rolls his eyes, head tilted up towards the ceiling and looking at Harry who pushes through. “What did I say?” he sounds desperate, confused, and this is not where he was planning this night to lead. This is not what he was planning to tell Zayn. This is not the way he was hoping to make him listen.

“I don't know Harry, what _did_ you say?” Zayn is frowning now, too.

Harry pulls himself together as best he can. “I was,” he tries, doing his best not to cave under Zayn's fierce gaze. “I was trying to talk to you about what I said in your kitchen. And how that still stands. With me. And how I feel about you.” There. He's said it. A very bad version of it. But it's something.

Judging by the way Zayn is frowning at him, it's not enough.

“What? That you need me?” Zayn throws his hands out slightly, sounding decidedly unimpressed, and Harry gets the sudden urge to bow his head in shame. Something in the way Zayn is acting right now, like he doesn't take what Harry is saying seriously, it makes him want to scream and cry all at the same time. “Yeah, I heard you then, and I don't need to hear it now, again.” he says fiercely, his patience starting to wear thin, while his body looks so tired, Harry almost feels it radiating off of him.

“And?” Zayn says, shrugging his shoulder, a fiery look to his eyes, like he's daring Harry to say anything remotely out of line. Problem is, Harry doesn't know what that would be.

“That's how I feel,” Harry starts. Zayn is just not getting it. How is he not getting it. “That's how I still feel.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Zayn says, and Harry shakes his head, not speaking. He doesn't know what to say, he has lost all sense of direction and now all he can do is shake his head and pray that Zayn won't leave. “I do. But- I'm sorry, but it doesn't change anything, Harry,” Zayn sighs, looking frustrated beyond belief. He wants to leave. Harry can tell, because he knows that look all too well, and he hates it.

“Fuck- why do you do this, Harry?” Zayn asks, that same pleading and tired look in his eyes. “There used to be a time where we got along, where we didn't have to worry about having the same fucking argument over and over again. Where we could be in the same space together for more than a couple hours before getting at each other's necks. It was so nice to be back to that, to be able to have that again, why do you have to spoil it?”

Harry doesn't know. He doesn't know why he keeps doing this to himself when Zayn clearly couldn't give less of a shit. But it doesn't stop his mouth from talking without him being able to do anything about it.

“It could be nicer.”

He knows what he has to say, he knows it. He knows what he feels, what he's felt, what he's still fucking feeling, every single time Zayn is in front of him. Every time he is away from him. It doesn't go away, it hasn't and it won't and he knows what he needs to say. He just can't. Zayn is looking at him like there's nothing he wants more than for Harry to stop talking all together. And he can't say it. Because he's not sure it would make any difference. And that terrifies him more than any look Zayn could ever give him.

Zayn sighs quietly again. He looks resigned. “Nah, it couldn't. Not for me. I learnt that a long fucking time ago,” he says, the tiredness having seeped into his voice. Harry frowns.

“What do you mean?” He'll blame this all on the alcohol later, when he wakes up and realises he made the worst attempt ever at getting what he's been wanting and needing for so very long.

“Nevermind,” Zayn mutters, making to pull his phone up from his pocket, and Harry takes an unsteady step closer, Zayn looking up at him.

“No, what do you mean?”

Zayn clenches his jaw, looking at Harry like he's considering his options, and Harry says a silent prayer for the final one to be the right one. For both of them. Zayn lets out a hopeless breath.

“I'm twenty-seven now, Harry.”

Harry waits.

“I'll be twenty-eight next year.” Zayn breathes calmly, his shoulders moving gently up and down. “I'm not twenty anymore,” he shakes his head. Harry feels the confused expression that he must be showing on his face.

Zayn grits his teeth again.

“I thought that I knew what I was doing back then. I thought that I had everything sorted. I didn't. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. I did. Because it's the same thing that I want now, seven years later.” Zayn swallows. “The difference is, I've started to allow myself to realise that I don't need to go through a bunch of shite, and painful feelings to try and get it. It took a while. But I'm done now. I've been done. It just sucks that you had to be the one to make me start to realise.”

Harry can feel his breathing start to get shallow and he's looking all over Zayn's face for an answer to everything, anything, all that he still doesn't understand. What?

“What did I do?” he gets out, frown so deep on his face he can start to feel the muscles on his forehead begin to strain.

Zayn shakes his head. “Nothing,” he sighs. “You didn't do shit, Harry. I'm just gonna go.”

Harry can tell by his voice that he's lying and he can't have that, because they've done this before. Zayn has lied and then he's left and they can't have that, not again. Zayn turns around to go and Harry's body makes a decision before his brain can catch up.

“No, wai-” He takes a step that must be too big for him to be able to have control over, and he slips very ungracefully on the nice parquet flooring, just about to fall face first down on the ground as Zayn's hands come to grab onto his forearms, holding him up with a force that is way too strong for how much wine he's been drinking. “Fuck- my feet are wet,” Harry says dumbly, holding onto Zayn and looking down at his feet, lifting one to check underneath and wobbling even more.

“Yeah, come on,” Zayn mutters, manoeuvering Harry over to the sofa, only a few steps away. Harry slumps onto the cushions, but keeps his hold on Zayn who has no choice but to take a seat on the coffee table in front of him, their hands still firmly on each other. Zayn pulls away and Harry lets him, his hands sliding over Zayn's arms, but when they reach Zayn's own hands, they latch on. Zayn looks up, just about managing to sit upright on the table. They lock eyes for a moment, Harry still trying to get his brain to work in a good enough way for him to be able to tell Zayn exactly what he needs him to know. Zayn still has that resigned look on his face, and he gently untangles one hand from Harry's to pull his phone from his pocket. Harry can't even tell him to not. His head is spinning, from both the wine and the atmosphere, from holding Zayn's warm hand in his and from all of the thoughts fighting for space inside his head.

He watches Zayn mumble some words into the phone before he hangs up and puts it back in his pocket. He grabs Harry's hand again and Harry immediately intertwines their fingers together, scooting forward where he's sitting on the sofa, trying to get as much of Zayn close to him as he possibly can.

“A car will be here in ten minutes,” Zayn says softly, looking down at where Harry is stroking his thumbs over Zayn's skin. Harry just nods, before giving a self-pitying grunt.

“I think I had too much. Of the wine,” he mumbles, bowing his head slightly and closing his eyes, pulling Zayn's hands further into his lap and forcing Zayn to get even closer.

“Yeah, me too,” Zayn says. Harry nods again, feeling Zayn's forehead touch his. He leans himself against him for a moment, revelling in the way he can hear him breathing. The way he can feel Zayn's pulse under his fingertips. Harry pulls away to look at him, prompting Zayn to do the same.

It's dark in the house but the lights creeping in through the big floor-to-ceiling windows are enough to let Harry see Zayn's eyes. They're glistening, and Harry feels himself lose his breath for a couple of seconds.

“You know I meant what I said.” he says just loudly enough for his voice to reach Zayn's ears. “I mean it. I love you, Zayn.”

It just slips out, and Harry can hear how slow he's talking, he can feel the way his eyelids are drooping. Zayn swallows heavily. His fingers move over Harry's skin.

“I love you too, Harry.” he says, so simply. Harry is just about to pull him closer when Zayn bows his head down. They're silent for a moment before Harry hears a loud sniffle, and he feels his heart break.

“Don't cry,” he whispers, trying to make Zayn look at him. “Don't be upset.” Zayn shakes his head, still with his face tilted down. “That's all I seem to do, isn't it,” Harry breathes out, to himself more than to Zayn. “I just keep making you cry.”

Zayn sniffles roughly again, and Harry hears him huff out a shaky laugh.

“Yeah, you do.” he whispers back, and looks up at him, letting out a long sigh, and Harry doesn't know why he isn't crying himself because hearing Zayn's voice sound like this; it's the most horrible thing. He's always thought so. And now here he is. Making it sound like this. Tired and hopeless.

He's just about to say something, anything, to try and make things better again, when Zayn sits upright, letting his hands slip away from Harry's hold. He sniffles roughly again, shaking his head to himself and self-consciously wiping his cheek on his t-shirt covered bicep.

“I'm gonna,” Zayn breathes out, trying to get himself together. “I'm gonna leave my backpack here. Just... so you won't think that- I don't know. We'll see each other tomorrow, won't we,” Zayn says, looking at Harry's knees rather than his face.

Harry shakes his head. “You don't have to go. You can sleep here.” he tries, one last time. Zayn copies his movements.

“Nah. You need to sleep. I need to go home.” he rubs his palms over his thighs before standing up.

“I'm gonna go wait outside. I'll text you in the morning,” Zayn gives Harry a small smile, waiting for a response. Harry just looks at him for a moment, feeling the fatigue start to properly sink into his body. The cushions are so soft underneath him and he can't wait to fall asleep.

“Yeah?” Zayn says softly, looking down at him. He sounds like Harry's mum used to, when he was little, and she needed to make sure he was okay. Harry nods, noticing how hard it's gotten to try and blink his eyes open.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Just sleep, yeah?” Zayn says, and Harry keeps nodding. “Alright. Bye, Haz.”

Harry hears the door opening and closing before he lets himself fall asleep.

 

 

Harry wakes up to Zayn ringing him.

Still on the sofa, he blindly reaches into his pocket where his phone is buzzing against his bum and manages to say a croaky hello.

“I'm babysitting for Louis today, but, I can see you at the studio for a bit before, if you'd like,” he hears Zayn's voice through the phone, and all of a sudden, he's wide awake.

Sitting up a little too quickly, he feels his head spin and he forces down a groan, not wanting Zayn to know exactly how much he is hanging right now. He's called him, and Harry is not about to take that for granted.

“Yeah, I'll...” he pushes his brain to the limit, trying to get some sense into his head. “I can pick you up?”

“Nah, it's okay, I'll manage. Meet you there in an hour?”

Harry nods his head, before remembering that Zayn can't see him.

“One hour, yeah,” he says.

“Cool, see ya,” Zayn says before hanging up. Harry moves the phone from his ear to check the time. Noon. Fair enough.

He manages to drag himself and take a shower, a cold one, to wake him up properly. Standing and looking at himself in the mirror, he feels a shiver run up his spine. He's done this before. He shakes his head, before making an attempt to deal with the wet mess on his head.

Somehow, he's out of the door on time, having forced himself to down two glasses of orange juice to get him going. He puts Zayn's backpack in the backseat, after having spotted it sitting by his boots, and sighs as he slumps down in front of the wheel. It's not a particularly long drive to the studio, and Harry feels good enough all things considered. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's gotten worse with holding his liquor the older he's gotten. He shakes his head, reminding himself of the fact that he's twenty-six, and not fifty, and gets the car running.

Zayn is sitting by the piano when Harry steps into the practice room and he turns around at the sound of him entering.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

Harry holds up the bag as he walks over. “I didn't forget it,” he says, a short laugh slipping out and Zayn smiles.

“Thanks,” he reaches out a hand, standing up but Harry puts the bag down by the piano.

“Sit,” he asks gently, and Zayn freezes for a moment, before sitting back down, looking up at Harry hesitantly. Harry takes a seat beside him, pressing down a single key before sighing and slapping his hands against his thigh. Make it better.

“I'm sorry about yesterday, I... I-” he shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. Zayn watches him silently. “I don't know... what's wrong with me,” he says, before giving himself a mental slap across the face. “Actually I do know,” he huffs out a bitter laugh. “I can't control myself around you. That's what's wrong. I never could.” he keeps his eyes on the keys in front of him, before turning to Zayn.

Zayn is nodding solemnly, his eyes on the piano.

“Maybe we should call them.” he says. Harry furrows his brows.

“Who?” he asks, gently, not wanting to disturb the calmness surrounding them, for once.

“The organisers,” Zayn says. “Tell them we can't do this,” he looks at Harry.

Harry keeps frowning. That's all he ever does nowadays. “Why?”

Zayn lets out a slow, quiet breath.

“Because if we can't be around each other without getting too heated, then I'm not sure I wanna do this anymore,” he says. All of a sudden, he sounds sad. And when he turns to face Harry, he looks it.

“Do what?”

Harry's barely breathing at this point. Don't say it.

“This,” Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “The project. Us.”

He's staring Harry right in the eyes. He's said it.

“What do you mean?” Harry can feel a prickling in his throat. But Zayn has had enough.

He sighs out roughly. “You just don't fucking get it, do you, Harry?” he says, turning to him again, and Harry's defenses go up in an instant.

“No, I don't get it. Tell me,” he pushes, voice louder now, more firm, and Zayn clenches his jaw.

“I don't know how many years it's been, two, five, seven,” he shakes his head. “But you saw me last night. I'm still a mess."

“What do you mean?” Harry repeats, desperately.

Zayn closes his eyes for a brief moment, sighing again. “All it took for me to fall head-first in love with you was a few months. A fucking summer, and then that was it.”

Harry can feel how wide his eyes have gotten, he can feel how hard his heart is hammering in his chest, how rapidly the wings are fluttering. But he can't speak.

“And I shouldn't have, for so many fucking reasons, I know that.” Zayn keeps shaking his head, not looking at Harry. “I shouldn't have, but I did. And I thought that it could work out, because it just- it just seemed so right, and I'm a fucking idiot,” Zayn laughs darkly. “But you just-” he lets out a sharp breath. “You made me feel-” Zayn bites his lip roughly and Harry can feel his own mouth agape, as he listens to what Zayn is trying to say. What Harry thinks he's trying to say. What he's been dreaming of him saying for years and years, but Zayn doesn't look happy and Harry can't speak.

“You made me feel like..." Zayn shakes his head gently. "I'd never felt like that before,” He looks down at the piano keys, eyes not blinking. “And I know I was projecting, I must have been, but you just made it so easy, saying all these things, the things you fucking whispered in my ear, and I just couldn't... I couldn't control it either.” Zayn breathes heavily.

“And just the fact that you probably don't even remember,” Zayn huffs out another dark chuckle.

Harry's still staring. He doesn't remember. Whatever Zayn is talking about, he doesn't remember. Or maybe he does. But he was trying so hard back then to deny everything he was feeling, everything that he shouldn't have let himself feel. He was so in his own head. And the one thing he should have been focusing on, the one person, the one person he'd always made sure to focus all of his attention on, to make sure he was alright- Harry lost his focus. He doesn't remember.

“You don't know how long I've spent regretting it. Every single bit of it.” Zayn clenches his jaw but Harry can hear it in his voice. He can't mean that.

“You don't mean that.” he shakes his head, staring at Zayn's profile.

Zayn nods, eyes on the piano. “I do.”

Harry feels all the air disappearing from his lungs. Like a balloon that's been nestled in his chest. With two words, Zayn sticks a nail in it, and it dissipates in an instant.

“But, you-” Harry tries. He has to try. “You didn't care. Back then. You didn't care.” That's why he had to end it. For himself. Because to Zayn, it didn't mean anything. Not back then.

Zayn looks at Harry then, that same tired look in his eyes.

“I cared,” he frowns at him, like he really cannot believe how blind Harry had been. Maybe he was. “That's all I ever did. You just didn't wanna see it.”

Harry doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know what to think, but Zayn keeps talking before he can even make an attempt to.

“And I get it, I do. It was exciting. And you wanted to, I guess, try something new,” Harry frowns. “And I was there. Ready and willing,” he shakes his head with a grim look on his face. “When you wanna have sex with a guy, who's better than your best friend who you already know would be up for it?” he finishes, muttering the last bit to himself.

Harry can barely believe what he's hearing.

“Is that what you think?” he finally gets out. “How could that possibly be what you think?”

Zayn looks up at him and Harry's frown deepens at the lack of emotion in his eyes.

“With the way you were acting,” Zayn says, his voice reflecting his expression. “It wasn't too hard to figure out. I just hoped that you'd prove me wrong. But you never did. You never told me what I wanted to hear. And then you ended it. Just before we were due home. What did you expect me to think?” he shrugs a shoulder, his eyes firm on Harry's, unrelenting and filled with so much sadness that it almost hits Harry like a punch to the stomach.

It's all wrong. “I ended it because-” he has so much to say that it's hard to get any of it out, everything pushing to the front of his mind at the same time, everything he's been pushing towards the back and into the furthest and darkest corners of his brain for so long. It's overwhelming, but he tries anyway. “Because- you were with Perrie?” he bursts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

“Which was just the fucking icing on the cake, wasn't it,” Zayn rolls his eyes at himself.

“You had your forever, even then, you had it and you were gonna go for it, she was waiting for you, and you were gonna choose her, forever,” Harry rushes out, tone having gone frantic. This is all so wrong.

“Perrie was miles away!” Zayn exclaims and Harry almost flinches away. “Perrie was at home, and you were lying next to me in a hotel bed. I didn't know what I was gonna do, but if you had told me, right there and then, that you wanted us to be together, you and me-” Zayn stops himself, trying to take a breath and get his thoughts together. “It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter anymore,” he says, standing up from the piano and walking behind Harry to get his bag. Harry is frozen to the spot. He can't believe it. This can't be real.

Zayn whips around suddenly, eyes fixed on Harry and Harry's body comes to life with it, standing up and facing him.

“I know I sound like a crazy person, and that's fine, maybe I am, but it's been years and it's not gotten better, even though I've tried so hard for everything to be fine with you, but it's not,” Zayn says and his voice is matching Harry's now. Rushed, desperate and frantic. He needs to get this out, and Harry can do nothing but listen. “And now here you are, again, trying to start this whole thing up, again, and I just can't do it, Harry, you have to get that.” his eyes are pleading but Harry is still focusing on what he's insinuating. “You wanna fuck, you wanna have this thing, the same thing we had back then, and it's just not gonna work, because I know what you're like, Harry,” Zayn shakes his head. “You're not for me.”

Harry is shaking his head along with him and Zayn sighs heavily. “No, you fucking don't know,” Harry retorts, his brain finally having realised that if he doesn't want this to fall to pieces then he has to try to hold it together. “What are you- I don't wanna fuck!” he bursts out, more frustrated than he's ever felt. He stops. “Well, I do,” Zayn grabs his backpack with two hands where he's holding it in front of him, looking like he's trying to compose himself. Harry shakes his head again, as if it will make Zayn understand. “That's not it though, that's never been it. I want _you_ , Zayn,” he says, but Zayn just stares at him, emotionless.

“Yeah, you've said that. You've said that so many times, but I don't believe you. I can't,” Zayn says, shrugging a shoulder. “I don't wanna say that you're full of shit, Harry, because I'm done trying to fight with you,” he goes on and it's like a fucking spear to Harry's heart. “Nothing that you've ever done so far has ever proven to me that we want the same things. You know what you should say now because you know what I want to hear. It's not enough. Because I know how it'll end. You'll get bored. You'll decide you want something else. That's what you've done all this time. It's just now that I'm here,” he shakes his head, looking down at the floor. “It's too tempting. Because it _was_ good,” he looks back up. “It really was.”

Harry grits his teeth. He's stunned.

“But this is how it goes,” Zayn gestures between the two of them. “This is how it always goes with us. Because we want different things. Like we always have.”

Harry shakes his head slowly.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” he says quietly.

Zayn keeps his eyes on him for a moment, before pulling his phone up from his pocket and checking the screen. He sighs to himself.

“I gotta be at Louis'.”

Harry is looking at Zayn's shoes. In all his life, he doesn't ever think he's felt this crap. And that's saying something. Every word Zayn has said; it's like when you're involved in a trauma. He's in shock, and he doesn't know how to handle it.

“I'll drive you,” he hears himself say. He looks back up.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, watching him for a moment, before turning to slowly head out.

The drive to Louis' is a silent one. For the whole ride, none of them utter a single word. As Zayn is stepping out of the car Harry finally opens his mouth to speak.

“I'll text you,” he says. He doesn't know for what reason, he doesn't know where they stand with each other. But Zayn nods.

“Okay.”

Harry watches him step into Louis' house. And then he drives home. In silence.

 

 

He stands in the living room for a long while, hands on his hips, staring out at the back garden. The pool and the benches. The pink ball. The trampoline. The silence is almost deafening and all Harry can hear is his own breathing.

 _Nothing that you've ever done so far has ever proven to me that we want the same things_. _I don't believe you._

Harry feels the prickling in his throat and behind his eyelids. He breathes out a huff of air, trying to keep himself calm.

_He loves you, you know_

Harry swallows.

_I love you too, Harry_

Like a bolt of lightning from the sky, Harry wakes up. Standing in his living room, he's never felt more awake. He heads for the hall, and sprints up the steps to the second floor, getting inside his room and pulling the last drawer of his bedside table open.

_I don't believe you._

 

 

Somehow he manages to wait the amount of time he deems plausible for Zayn to be done at Louis', before he gets in his car again, and heads to Zayn's house.

Standing in front of his door and waiting for Zayn to open, Harry's nervous. He's not staying. Or maybe he is. A bit of him at least.

Zayn opens the door, looking out at him wearily.

“I'm not staying,” Harry says immediately, and Zayn seems to relax a bit. It hurts.

“Here,” Harry holds out his hand. Zayn frowns before slowly taking the journal out of Harry's hand. Every instinct in Harry's body tells him to grab it back from where Zayn is now holding onto the leather bound book, and get in the car and drive away as fast as he can, but he pushes it aside. Instead he steps back, his hands finding each other to nervously toy with his rings.

“Read it.” he says, and Zayn looks up at Harry's face, from where he's been studying the book in his hand. “It's a bit old so you might, it might-” Harry starts. “Just, the pages are a bit. Frail. But you should read it.” he says again. Then he turns around and gets back into his car, and drives back home.

 

 

Anne calls when Harry has managed to calm himself down, forcing himself to make a cup of tea, the kind that he brought with him from home. It's been a few hours, a few hours of pacing and feeling helpless, like nothing is within his reach, but he's started to calm down, even just a little bit. He's sitting on the sofa when his phone lights up on the coffee table and he jerks upright in an instant, grabbing the phone and checking the caller ID. He lets himself sigh, from relief or disappoinment, he's not too sure, but he picks it up nonetheless.

“Hi, mum,” he says calmly, trying to keep his composure and not sound as distant as he feels.

“Hi, sweetheart, you alright?”

It doesn't take much. It barely takes Harry anything before he feels his breathing start to go rapid. He hears Anne's voice down the line.

“Harry?” She sounds worried now and Harry's always hated that sound because it makes him not able to pretend that he isn't falling apart, just like she thinks he might be.

“No, mum. I'm not alright.” he says, putting his cup on the table and dropping his head in his hand, fingers holding up his forehead and covering his eyes so the empty house around him won't see.

“What is it, love?” his mother's voice is soft and soothing in his ear. He knows he's twenty-six fucking years old, he knows he chose this life of living miles and miles away from his family. He knows all of that. But it doesn't stop him from wishing his mum was here right now. Wishing she was here to sing him to sleep just like when he was ten, and let those words and verses of a cleverly disguised heartbreak he knows so well be the last thing he hears before he fades into unconsciousness. Because she knows. Even though he's been trying to convince himself that she doesn't. Just like with so many people; he wasn't as slick as he thought.

“I don't...” Harry starts, trying his best to not make his voice sound shaky in any way. “I don't think we're gonna do the project anymore.”

He can't see the way Anne's brows furrow, but he can picture it so clearly in his mind.

“Why is that?” she asks calmly.

Harry releases a slow breath. It's shaky, and he's sure his mum can hear it.

“It's just not,” he takes another lungful of air, pleading for his body not to fail him because he knows how she will worry, and he doesn't want that, on top of everything else. “It's just not working out.”

Anne doesn't say anything, and neither does Harry. Then he hears her sigh, and Harry perks his ears up.

“Alright,” she says, as if she's giving in to something, and Harry listens, moving his head up from his hand. “I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you before you were done, but...” Harry frowns. “It seems like things have gone a little awry.” She sighs again. Harry waits.

“There is no 'project', darling,” she says. Harry narrows his eyes. “The whole thing, with Comic Relief calling to ask you two to write a song together,” she goes on and Harry is just about to ask what the hell she means when she speaks again. “We made it up.”

Harry sits in silence for a few seconds, trying to take in what Anne is saying to him.

“Wha'?”

“Me and Trisha,” Anne says, her voice so very calm still. Harry feels his mouth gape open.

“What?” He says again. Half of him thinks this must be a wind-up. But judging by his mother's tone, Harry has a feeling that it might not be.

“Harry, I've watched you for all these years, trying to act like everything is fine and that you aren't spending your time alone being miserable,” Harry looks down at the carpet underneath his feet, trying his best not to let the tears that are suddenly welling up in his throat reach his eyes. “It's murder, sweetheart,” she says, her tone reflecting her words, and Harry sucks painfully on the insides of his cheeks. “You've never said it outright, and I understand why you might not have wanted to, but I've seen it. In the things you do, the things you say.”

Harry is biting on his lip hard enough for him to finally taste copper. He tries to sniffle as quietly as possible.

“A mother can only take so much,” Anne says, and Harry feels the first tear roll down his face.

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything,” he gets out.

“Don't be,” and her voice sounds so much like home that Harry wishes he never bought this stupid house so far away from her in the first place. “I'm sorry I lead you into this. I didn't mean for you to end up worse than before.” She sounds heartbroken and Harry shakes his head.

“I don't know what to say,” he laughs finally, at the whole ordeal. It's whatever. He's here now. Maybe it was for the best, because he never would have pulled himself together to go see Zayn if it wasn't for any of this. “You're a sly one, Twist.” he mutters and Anne chuckles warmly.

“Well. It was Trisha's idea, really,” Harry frowns once more, his mother's previous words coming back to him.

“Why?” he asks.

“Well,” Anne says, sighing. “Apparently you've both been acting pretty bleak for a long time. We both have eyes, you know,” she says and Harry almost rolls his eyes, getting distracted at her tone before he comes back to reality again, focusing on what she's saying. He gives a sigh of his own.

“Well,” he starts, shaking his head to himself and rolling a ring on his middle finger with his thumb. “It doesn't matter anymore. I think he's made his mind up. He's not listening to me, so. I'm not holding out any hope anymore. Thanks for trying though. It was fun while it lasted,” he laughs bitterly. “And we didn't write a single thing, so at least no work was properly wasted.”

“What did you do then?” Anne asks gently.

Harry shrugs. “Played with his dog. Ate some food. Went to Louis'. Just regular stuff.”

“And you got along fine?”

Harry nods. “Just fine.” He bites his lip again, shaking his head, and trying to not think about how much he actually managed to screw up with all of this. It had been fine. And fine is good. This is not.

“Then what?”

Harry sighs. “I told him that,” he looks up and out the windows, pushing down all of the emotions threatening to tumble over him, like an oncoming thunder in a black cloud of absolute shite. “That I wanted to be with him. And he didn't believe me.”

Anne hums into the phone. “I should have told him sooner. I should have told him when it happened but I couldn't. I didn't. And now... I don't know. It wasn't enough.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, his voice tearfilled before he proceeds to bite at his own tongue to get himself to stop feeling. Anything.

“Okay,” she says softly.

“It's whatever,” Harry draws in a sharp, sniveling breath through his nose. It doesn't help to say that. It isn't true. And Anne can hear it.

“Did you make yourself a cuppa?” Anne asks and Harry huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah,” he says.

“Good. Make another one, and then go have a liedown. Maybe after that, you'll feel a bit better.” Harry shakes his head. He isn't sick. This isn't like when he got a fever in secondary school. This isn't gonna go away. But he doesn't say that.

“Okay.”

They stay silent for a moment.

“Jeff as well? He was in on this?” Harry asks suddenly, as the thought hits him.

“Yes. Don't be cross with him, he only did what I asked of him,” Anne says in that same motherly tone.

“I won't be,” Harry says, even though he's already planning on the best way to get back at his manager and possibly now ex-friend. “It was a nice thought, wasn't it,” he admits. He sighs again. “I feel a headache coming on, actually. I'll just... yeah. Sleep for a bit, I think.”

He's never felt this pathetic in his entire life, but Harry really couldn't give less of a shit at this point. It's been the worst day imaginable, and the knowledge that it won't be any better once he wakes up after his nap makes him want to sleep for the rest of his life. He shakes his head at his own thoughts. He never signed up for this.

They say goodbye to each other, and Harry gets up, putting his phone back in his pocket on autopilot. He doesn't bother to make himself another cup of tea, just puts his mug in the sink and goes upstairs.

He doesn't know for how long he lies there on the bed, wide awake and fully clothed, but the sun is starting to set when he feels that all too familiar vibration against his bum. He sighs, thinking it must be his mum again, calling to check up on him, even though it can't have been more than an hour since they last spoke. But it's only a single buzz, and Harry pulls his phone out from under him, checking the text lighting up the screen.

_Can you let me in?_

He sits up immediately, staring at the message for a couple of seconds before swinging his legs off the bed and going downstairs. Zayn is standing outside his gate in the monitor, and Harry presses the button to open the gates, feeling his heart start to pound in his chest again. This is hell, but he can't help but feel it. That same stupid, deceiving feeling: Hope.

He doesn't open the door until Zayn knocks on it, instead just standing in the hallway, preparing himself for the inevitable. He doesn't want to get yelled at again. But if Zayn wants to come in he's not gonna say no. Like he ever could.

Zayn just stands there looking at him for a moment once Harry opens the door.

“Can I come in?” he says finally, and Harry nods once, before turning around to walk into the livingroom, not waiting for Zayn to take his shoes off.

When he turns around again, Zayn is standing there, just a few feet behind him, without his shoes on, or the jacket that he arrived in. He's holding Harry's old, worn journal in both of his hands, and he's looking at Harry with those big, beautiful eyes. The ones that Harry could never resist.

“I'm, uh,” Zayn starts, voice soft and tentative. “I walked here.”

Harry stays silent. He doesn't know what he was expecting.

“I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a bit. Thought I could do with the fresh air too,” Zayn says, voice quiet, but in the silence of the big house, it fills up the entire room. Harry gives a single nod, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously.

“I read this.” Zayn says, holding the journal a little higher up. They lock eyes with each other, and Harry feels his heart get ready to be crushed into a million tiny, unmendable pieces, once and for all. Zayn shakes his head, before letting out a sharp breath.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

It's a question Harry's asked himself, way too many times. Finally, he might actually have an answer. He shrugs his shoulders, trying to hide years of guilt and pain in one flippant motion. It doesn't work anymore.

“Because,” he shrugs again, Zayn looking at him so expectantly. “I- you've always been too good for me, Zayn.” Harry lets his arms drop down. He sighs, and then it all just comes tumbling out.

“When I finally managed to make the move that I'd been trying to, for way too fucking long, and you reciprocated, and didn't push me away,” Harry shakes his head. “I can't even describe it. It was everything.”

That sad frown is back on Zayn's brows, but something in Harry tells him that he isn't going to leave. Not quite yet anyway.

“Then I was just waiting for you to realise that I wasn't worth the time. It's not like you couldn't ever find someone, a million times better than me.” It's Harry who's crying now, again. But this time, Zayn can see it. “And then you did,” Harry breathes out.

Zayn is shaking his head now, again, but for once, it doesn't make Harry feel worse than he already is. Maybe he's reached his peak.

“Harry, what's this?” Zayn asks softly, gesturing to the journal in his grip. Harry moves a hand up to wipe over his chin, letting it slap back down against his thigh, sniffling and trying not to focus too much on the fact that he's still crying, still a mess. Still here, ten years later, waiting for Zayn to crush him into nothingness. He shrugs again. It's been done, Zayn's seen it. There's nothing left.

“It's me,” he says. “It's you,” he sniffles again, sucking in his cheeks in an attempt to get himself together. “All of it. It's all you.” He turns his head down to face the floor. He hears Zayn stepping closer and he forces himself to take slow and calming breaths. Zayn's feet come into view and Harry sniffles again.

“It's beautiful,” Zayn voice says quietly. Harry huffs out a dark laugh. “Thanks.”

“But it's very sad.” Harry looks up at him. He nods. “Yeah.” he whispers out.

Zayn clenches his jaw and swallows, not letting his eyes shift from where they're staring into Harry's.

“Do you mean it?” his voice is steady, but Harry can see the way his eyes are glistening, and he prays that Zayn won't start to cry as well, because then this really will be the shittiest day in existence. As if it isn't already. Harry nods.

“Yes,” he croaks out. “Always have. You're it.”

Zayn's eyes are fixed on his, and Harry holds his breath as Zayn starts to shake his head.

“Oh, babe,” he breathes out, a deep and sad crease between his eyebrows that Harry doesn't have time to admire, because all of a sudden Zayn's arms are around him and Harry grabs onto him without a single thought, the feeling of Zayn in his arms the most beautiful sense of familiarity Harry could ever ask for.

“I'm sorry,” Zayn breathes into his ear and Harry immediately finds himself shaking his head, bowing down and burying his face in Zayn's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he says back and he hears Zayn drop the journal to the floor behind him, Zayn's arms squeezing him tighter and Harry latches onto him completely, daring him to ever try to let him go. Harry keeps shaking his head and pulls away far enough to let himself look into Zayn's eyes that are now filled with tears, looking up at him with all of the love in the world and Harry isn't scared anymore.

“I love you,” he says, sniffling again and trying to keep the tears at bay for just a moment. Zayn's hands are by his face now, stroking over his hair and his cheeks but Harry keeps going. “I love you,” he says again, and Zayn is biting his lip, looking up at him. “And I'm so sorry I didn't say it before, I should have, I should have said it as soon as I felt it but I was scared, just like you said, I was scared, and I'm a fucking idiot, but I do love you, I love you Zayn, I do,” he's babbling and he can hear how teary his voice sounds but he doesn't care because Zayn is nodding now, as he keeps wiping his hands over Harry's cheeks, and Harry nods back, still in a fucking state and breathing through his mouth because his nose is clogged up now and Zayn wraps his arms around his neck, resting his forehead against Harry's. But Harry isn't done, because Zayn is listening now, properly listening and he needs him to get it, to completely and fully get it.

“And it was never about the sex,” he says, in a voice that is just as rushed but quieter now, now that Zayn is so, so close, close enough for Harry to hear his breathing, to feel his warmth under his hands. It's everything. “Never, that was never it, and we never have to fuck ever again, if that's what it'll take for you to believe me, for you to trust me, then that doesn't even matter, so long as you stay,” he hasn't cried like this for years, in the way that he can hear it in his voice, the desperation and the helplessness so very evident and Harry would feel embarrassed if Zayn wasn't nodding still. If Zayn wasn't holding him.

“I believe you,” Zayn says, and there's a slight wobble to his voice too, even though it's full of calm, like he's consoling Harry and he is, with every word, he's making it all better. “I believe you, baby,” and a sob is finally released from Harry's mouth and it makes Zayn huff out a laugh and it's all such a fucking mess but Harry's heart feels full again and before he knows it, Zayn is kissing him. And every second that has passed since their lips last touched like this is wiped out, as Harry closes his eyes and feels Zayn's mouth against his. It's not the sexiest thing he's ever experienced, he doesn't feel the slightest bit attractive or desirable but it doesn't matter, because everything he's ever wanted is here right now, in his arms, and Zayn is smiling into the kiss, before Harry presses even closer, making Zayn reach up to gently tangle his fingers in Harry's hair.

“I've missed you, I've missed you so much,” Zayn whispers against Harry's mouth as he pulls away, barely an inch. “I love you, too, fuck, I do,” and Harry can't even laugh at the relief and inexplicable happiness he is feeling, all he can do is try to fathom that this moment is real.

“It's real,” he says out loud, with no context whatsoever, but Zayn just nods, smiling warmly at him. “It is.” before he moves in to kiss Harry again. It's like tasting air again after having been chained to the bottom of the ocean, kissing Zayn like this after so long, and Harry almost lets himself get lost in it before a single important thought pushes to the forefront of his mind and he pulls away to speak.

“I mean it,” he breathes, even though the way he's looking down at Zayn's lips contradicts all that he's about to say. “Whatever I need to do, or don't do, just say it and I will,” Zayn nods hurriedly. “Or won't,” Harry adds seriously, breathing still rapid as he keeps his hold around Zayn's waist. Zayn huffs out a laugh and Harry lets a smile fall on his face. It almost feels strange after all of the misery of today. And he's still a fucking mess but Zayn is laughing, and it's all worth it. It's worth it.

“I know you do,” Zayn whispers, stroking over the hair above Harry's ears and Harry closes his eyes to the feeling. “I know.”

“Just don't go,” Harry whispers back into the tiny space between them. He looks at Zayn again, who is staring at him with hooded eyes. “Don't go. Please stay.” he says, the words that he should have said years ago. It wasn't time. It is now. Zayn smiles at him, his eyes so warm and kind. “I'll stay.” he whispers, and Harry feels a new onslaught of tears about to force themselves up his throat before Zayn puts them all to rest, his lips back on Harry's. It's softer now, Zayn cradling Harry's cheek in one hand, the other behind his neck to keep him from moving away, something that Harry would never even dream of. Zayn breathes out slowly as they break apart and Harry watches his every move.

“I'm ready, though,” Zayn whispers, wiping gently at Harry's tear-streaked cheeks again. Harry feels his breathing get heavier, less hectic and he swallows. “If you want to,” Zayn looks up at him, his eyes so big, so unrealistically gorgeous that it catches Harry off guard. He swallows again.

“There's no wrong answer, Harry,” he says, that soft and soothing tone to his voice. The one that always made Harry feel so safe. So loved. He nods. Zayn keeps his eyes on him, seeing everything. That's what it feels like, that's what it always used to feel like when they were together. Like Zayn was seeing all of him, every single bit. And now he is. Zayn nods back before crowding in even closer and making Harry's breath hitch in his throat.  
“Where's your bedroom, baby?” he breathes against Harry's mouth and Harry is already half-hard.

He doesn't know how they make it up the stairs, but when they're finally inside Harry's bedroom Harry isn't wearing a shirt anymore, and he hurriedly takes his jeans and pants off, trying to watch Zayn do the same simultaneously and failing as he nearly falls over before Zayn catches him, like usual. He's naked now and helps Harry step out of his jeans, before getting on the bed and laying down. Completely naked, laying on Harry's crisp white sheets, and Harry can do nothing but stare, in awe of everything laying in front of him. Zayn smiles at him. “Come here,” he whispers, and it's all it takes for Harry to get on top of him in a second.

They just breathe for a moment, Harry trying to get his body to get used to Zayn's bare skin underneath him again. But it might be fruitless, because Harry's not sure it ever will.

“I never thought we'd end up like this again,” Zayn says, stroking Harry's cheek with his thumb. They're both stark naked and pressed together, but somehow, they're both keeping their focus. Just about at least. “And if I did,” Zayn continues. “I never thought it would be with a smile on my face.”

“That's all I want,” Harry whispers and Zayn smiles. “That's all I could ever ask for.”

Zayn's smile grows wider, his thumb still rubbing against Harry's skin.

“Cheeseball.” he mutters, and Harry huffs out a proper laugh, before Zayn pulls him down for a deep kiss.

It quickly gets heated and Harry is gasping for breath at every opportunity he can get, but at the same time, if he could keep kissing Zayn like this for as long as he wanted, then breathing be damned. Oxygen is overrated anyway.

“I need you, Harry,” Zayn breathes out between kisses and Harry barely manages to not sob out a sigh. “In every way. All the time. Please,” he can hear the desperation in Zayn's voice and Harry nods quickly, moving away and opening the top drawer of his bedside table, coming back with a bottle of lube in an unusually impressive speed and Zayn must agree with the way he is grinning, rewarding Harry with another kiss, as Harry tries to open the bottle with one hand, succeeding with that as well.

He moves back to get his fingers wet and blindly throws the bottle away into a corner without snapping the cap closed, Zayn snickering softly underneath him until Harry pushes their mouths together once more.

Zayn's breath is hitching against his lips as Harry opens him up, trying to be as slow and careful as he can, but Zayn is quickly rocking back against his fingers and it makes Harry even hotter than he already is.

“It's fine, I'm good,” Zayn whispers against Harry's mouth, his arms firm around his neck and Harry doesn't even bother to ask if he's sure because he knows that he is. He nods and wraps his hand around himself, stroking the excess slick onto himself and feeling the way his body is already trembling as he finally pushes inside.

“Shit,” Zayn hisses as Harry bottoms out, his hips pressing against Zayn's thighs and Harry chokes out a breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Zayn's. “Are you okay?” Zayn whispers, as if he's not the one getting split open by a rock hard cock. Harry nods and starts to pepper kisses all over Zayn's neck and face, making Zayn giggle breathlessly, his laughter turning into a moan as Harry slowly rocks into him.

“More?” Harry gets out and Zayn instantly nods. “More.” he pleads, and Harry wouldn't ever want to disappoint.

His thrusts are slow, but rough almost instantaneously, Zayn's breath hitching in his throat with every push inside. There's nothing to be heard, only their heavy panting, and the slickness of Harry driving into Zayn.

Harry doesn't realise that he's crying until Zayn is raising his hands to wipe at his cheeks. He doesn't say anything, just moves down to kiss him, Zayn's hands holding his head so tenderly, before they're both distracted by Harry angling his thrusts to hit Zayn's prostate. Zayn moans loudly against Harry's lips and Harry pulls away, quickening his pace. He can feel the pressure building, with every moan slipping from Zayn's mouth, Harry feels himself start to lose control. Zayn's hands are still by Harry's face, holding onto him, grounding him, and Harry allows himself to close his eyes, Zayn's hold on him a promise. Even though he's balls deep inside of him, Zayn's hands on his neck is what makes him trust that he's not gonna disappear.

“Fuck,” Harry chokes out. “Zayn,” his voice is shaky and he opens his eyes to see Zayn laying underneath him, a flush to his cheeks and a small furrow between his brows at the way Harry is pushing inside of him.

“Zayn- I can't,” Harry tries to say, to excuse himself with the way he's about to fall over the edge way too soon, leaving Zayn to help himself. Zayn shakes his head, stroking his hand over Harry's hair.

“I've got you. I've got you, babe,” he whispers and Harry moans. He drops down to rest his head against Zayn's again, feeling overcome with emotions as Zayn wraps his legs tightly around him. Harry blindly reaches down between them, grasping onto Zayn's cock firmly and stroking his hand up and down in a merciless pace, making Zayn whine as Harry keeps pushing into him in that same rough pace. It's out of rhythm and Harry would be embarrassed were there anyone else lying beneath him right now. But Zayn is enveloping him, arms and legs locked around him, and it's the best Harry's ever felt. He twists his wrist while angling his hips in just the right way, making Zayn choke out his name as Harry keeps his ruthless pace where he's pumping his hand on Zayn's dick.

“Harry, Harry, shit,” Zayn gets out before Harry feels him spilling over his fist, Zayn clenching deliciously around him, almost knocking all sense out of Harry as he comes inside him, chanting Zayn's name into his neck and abandoning the grip around him to fist his sticky hand in the sheets instead. Harry's entire body is trembling as he presses himself against Zayn, feeling his chest push up heavily against Harry's. Zayn is stroking a hand over Harry's back in soothing motions, legs still firm around his waist, not seeming like he's ever planning on letting go.

“Don't fall asleep on me,” Harry hears Zayn's gentle voice into his ear, just as he is about to actually do just that, and he lifts himself up slowly to look at him.

Zayn cheeks are still flushed, but he's smiling up at Harry, that wonderful look of satisfaction on his face. Harry shakes his head as he stares.

“You're so fucking amazing.”

It's not very cleverly said, but it's the first thing he can think of. Zayn smiles, and Harry realises that there aren't enough words, none big enough to explain to Zayn what he is. To Harry.

“You're everything,” he whispers, and Zayn chuckles tiredly.

“I'll take that,” he says, and Harry grins, and kisses him gently.

He finally manages to pull out, giving Zayn another lingering kiss before whispering that he'll be right back, going into the bathroom to find something to clean him up with.

He wipes Zayn's stomach and between his legs with the gentlest hand, Zayn laying peacefully on the bed and watching him with a small smile. Harry feels his cheeks flush and throws the towel to the floor, pulling the soiled sheets from under Zayn as he moves aside before going to get another duvet.

When they're finally laying together under the warmth of the duvet, Harry can do nothing but stare. Zayn's hand is laying on his between them, gently stroking over Harry's skin as they look at each other, a smile still on Zayn's face. Harry closes his eyes, breathing out a large sigh. It's like years and years of emotional turmoil floats out of him in that lone breath, and when he opens his eyes to see Zayn again, it looks like he knows it.

Harry scoots even closer, throwing a leg over Zayn's hip, and an arm over his waist. Zayn hums out a low chuckle and Harry smiles, closing his eyes again. He feels Zayn press a kiss against his lips.

“What time is it?” Harry whispers, without opening his eyes.

“I don't know,” Zayn whispers back.

Harry feels how tired he is, from crying, from stressing. But laying here now beside Zayn in his bed, he feels more relaxed than ever.

“Will you stay?” He whispers.

“Yes,” Zayn says simply.

“Promise?” Harry whispers, feeling himself fall under.

“Yes,” he hears the smile in Zayn's voice.

He falls asleep to the sound of Zayn breathing, and his hand stroking patterns on Harry's back.

 

 

It's light outside when Harry blinks his eyes open. A part of the canopy on one side of the bed has fallen down from its hold, and the sun is shining through the white fabric. Harry watches it for a while, still in a dreamlike state, before everything suddenly comes crashing down upon him. He looks to the side, seeing the bed empty, the duvet tucked warmly against him, and a cold shiver rips down his spine.

He sits up fast enough that he feels light-headed for a second, but he just shakes his head to get rid of the spots and crawls down to the end of the bed to get his phone from his jeans. That aren't on the floor where he left them. Harry freezes where he is now sitting on his knees on the bed, looking around his bedroom and seeing the floor spotless, no clothes of any sort in sight. He tries to think for a moment, before he pushes that gameplan out the window and gets out of bed, nearly tripping on his own gangly legs and heads for the stairs on quick feet.

“Zayn?” Harry hears the hesitance in his voice, the fear that is nestled in there, but he keeps going, down the stairs and into the hall, checking left and right for any sign of life. “Zayn?”

“Yeah?” he hears Zayn's voice coming from around the corner and Harry feels goosebumps rise all over his skin. Zayn pops his head out from behind the dividing wall and Harry feels a huge breath of relief leave his lungs. Zayn smiles, stepping out from behind the corner. He's holding a glass of water in his hands, wearing only his boxers from last night, and Harry smiles back at him, feeling his face stretch into the goofiest grin it can manage. Zayn laughs.

“You okay? Did I wake you?” Zayn asks softly, walking closer with one hand outstretched, grabbing onto Harry's as he comes up to him. Harry just shakes his head, seeing the way Zayn's beard is growing in, the way his hair is slightly flat on one side of his head, and the look in his eyes telling him he's had a good sleep.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks instead, and Zayn smiles warmly. He nods, as Harry lifts his hand to his mouth, kissing over Zayn's knuckles gently, watching the fondness in his eyes.

“I did,” he says, in that soft and soothing tone and Harry feels the hummingbirds in his chest flutter their wings all at once. He lets them. “I just got a little thirsty,” Harry nods silently, moving his hands up to cup Zayn's face, kissing him gently. “And hungry,” Zayn mumbles between kisses, and Harry nods again. “But I'm still here.” Zayn finishes and Harry pulls back, looking at him. “Sorry I scared you,” Zayn says, before crowding into Harry, an arm around his waist as Harry wraps his around Zayn's shoulders, feeling Zayn press his lips against his neck. Harry shakes his head, pulling back to kiss him properly again.

“You want me to make you something?” he mumbles, stroking a thumb over Zayn's cheek. Zayn nods happily.

“Okay.” Harry smiles.

“I put the clothes in the laundry basket, but I like your outfit,” Zayn adds as Harry follows him back into the kitchen and Harry laughs, Zayn grinning at him over his shoulder and giving him a cheeky once over before he yelps as Harry tries to pull his boxers down.

 

After breakfast, Zayn says that he needs to go home to feed the lads and Harry tells him that he should bring them here, and Zayn likes that idea, so they get in the car to go get the pets. Their pets, Zayn says as Harry gets the car going, and if Harry's face could actually split in half because of how widely he's smiling, then it would have happened then.

When Zayn comes out with the last bag of kitty litter, he's wearing Harry's ring. Harry notices immediately, the way his finger glimmers of gold in the California sun. He feels the air in his lungs being pushed out, all in one breath as Zayn comes up to him after having put the bag in the backseat. He shrugs, looking up at Harry from under his eyelashes, eyes saying a thousand unspoken words, and Harry just kisses him, pulling him in with a hand around the back of his neck.

Harry holds Zayn's hand the entire way to his house, and the entire way back, Rhino panting in the backseat, Tiger perched on Zayn's lap, and as much dog and cat food in the trunk that they both could carry.

 

 

“My mum called me yesterday.”

They're laying in Harry's bed again, the sun having set outside the window. They've had a takeaway because none of them could be bothered to cook. Harry has tried to make himself acquainted with Tiger, to moderate success, making Harry pout and Zayn laugh and kiss his shoulder and say that it's not always love at first sight, to which Harry had turned around to look at him, as Zayn walked away to put the tupperware boxes into the bin, winking at Harry over his shoulder and making Harry pout even more. After the kitchen was spotless, Harry pulled Zayn back into the bedroom and proceeded to make it up to him for the poor performance the night before, even though Zayn told him to shut up, until Harry made sure he couldn't say another word.

Zayn is mumbling now, as he lays sated on the sheets and Harry watches him as he turns on his side to look at Harry fully.

Harry raises his eyebrows slightly, before the memories come back to him. He huffs out a low laugh and Zayn smiles tiredly.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, knowing exactly what's coming.

Zayn hums. “And then your mum called.” Harry's eyes go immediately wider and Zayn grins.

“I didn't know about any of this, just so you know,” Harry suddenly feels the need to say and Zayn furrows his brows.

“As if,” he says. “You're not that good an actor.” Harry squawks and Zayn giggles, moving away lazily as Harry pinches him in the side, forcing a whine out of Zayn before Harry rubs his hand gently over his skin.

“Mum said that I should take a leap,” Zayn says once he's gotten comfortable again, and Harry listens, still rubbing his palm over the slight dip in Zayn's waist. “That I should trust you.”

Harry watches him, feeling Zayn's ribs move up and down with his breathing.

“That I should let you get the chance to try and catch me.” Zayn says softly, his eyes firm on Harry's. Harry feels his fingers tingle with the urge to pull him close.

“You're always the one catching me,” he says instead.

“I know.” Zayn says. “Now we're even.” He smiles. And Harry has to kiss him then. Because he can. Because he's allowed to. It's all worth it.

“I think we should go to your house tomorrow, and I think we should pack you some clothes, and I think you should stay here. With me.” Harry mumbles, hand on Zayn's back and eyes flitting all over his face. Zayn watches him for a moment, that small smile on his face.

“Because,” Harry shrugs, trailing off slightly. Zayn waits. “Rhino's gonna miss me.” Harry says, his eyes locking with Zayn's. “And Tiger too,” Harry adds, watching the way Zayn's smile is stretching over his lips. “And I think it could be good,” Harry breathes, fingers tracing patterns on Zayn's back. “What do you think?”

Zayn's smile is so warm, just like Zayn. So warm, so familiar. It's home. He is.

“I think I'd like that.” Zayn says, and Harry smiles, kissing him again.

He turns away for a moment, flicking the light off on the bedside table before moving back to lay an arm around Zayn.

He can see Zayn's eyes glisten still, the distant light from outside reflecting in them as they lay watching each other.

“Are you happy?” Harry whispers.

Zayn bites his lip, trying to hide a smile and Harry crowds closer even, leaving little to no space between them.

“If I said I was, would you make me breakfast in the morning?” Zayn whispers back and Harry pinches him again, making Zayn flinch closer to him, Harry huffing out a laugh and stealing another kiss.

“Yes,” he still whispers and Zayn smiles victoriously, Harry shaking his head. “Any day. Every day.” Zayn closes his eyes, humming contentedly.

“Twat.”

Zayn snorts, and Harry giggles.

 

 

 

 

\- - -

 

He's sitting on the edge of the bed. The city lights are shining brightly in the distance, the view from the hotel room truly magnificent. He barely remembers where they are, the cities and dates always blending together, but Harry breathes in heavily, closing his eyes and feeling the way his head is spinning from the Champagne they ordered up to the room earlier, drinking it from the bottle and trying to wind down from the concert, before they left that up to each other, the room being filled with their heavy breathing and desperate moans.

He hears Zayn flick the light off in the bathroom, and the whole room falls into darkness, only lit up by the glowing lights outside.

He feels Zayn crawling over the bed behind him, and smiles as his arms come to circle his waist.

They sit in silence for a moment, Zayn's chin on Harry's shoulder as they watch the night outside.

“I dream about it sometimes.” Zayn says in a hushed voice, and Harry hums lazily. “Running away. Taking a car, driving to the end of the continent and back. You and me.”

Harry smiles. “You don't have a license. And I've had too much to drink.” he whispers. Zayn chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“It always ends happily. The two of us, on the run. Away from everything else.” Zayn turns to nose at Harry's hair. “You and me.”

Harry closes his eyes, smiling. He strokes his palm over Zayn's hands linked around his waist.

He nods.

“You and me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, you have my utmost respect.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts or give some kudos if you enjoyed it.
> 
> Pop by on [tumblr](http://queenxzee.tumblr.com/) if you want to as well, I'm always up for a chat. xx


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